‘Ode on a Fucker’ (reference: ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’ by John Keats)

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[Written by Emma Urbanová (she/her)]

[Photo by DIEGO SANCHEZ on Unsplash]

You still unrevealed manchild mystery,

You bastard child of sinning and springtime,

I am smitten by you, who canst thus depict

Your portraiture more sweetly than my rhyme:

What sick intentions do you have in your game?

Of loving or betrayal, or of both,

How many lost souls have loved you desperately? 

What did they love about you? What did they loathe? 

That mad pursuit, wild courage in your name,

Or your Affection that gave them Ecstasy? 

Good boys, oh, those are sweet, but those rotten

       Are sweeter; therefore, ye bad boys, play me on;

Not the sensible girl, but, more endear’d,

       Pipe the foolish girl, dumb to the bone:

The memories of thou, boy, cannot leave

My head, nor ever can this be fair;

Bold Lover, never, never canst thou miss

Me as I miss thee, and grieve as I grieve;

Thou art already in a different bliss, 

With a different girl, and doth not have a care! 

Ah, happy, happy girls! That cannot know

         Your touch, nor ever bid your taste adieu;

And, happy your exes, unwearied,

Already being so much over you;

But angry as hell are we, the rest of us!

Whom loving and dumping you very much enjoy’d,

Damn! Plot twist: thou shalt not be for ever young;

All the love-making you pursuit without fuss, 

Will make you worn-out, tiresome and old,

May it burn your forehead, parch your tongue! 

What are these, my lover, coming to your head?

         Is this a Twinge of Conscience, O pitiful beast,

And one lonesome tear for all the ones I’ve shed?

        *types* ‘ahah that’s so funny I am DECEASED 

What flimsy apology have you got there in store,

Or a lousy plea, bullshit you want to sell

Me, you deceiving vermin, you man-whore? 

And, liar, know, thy words for evermore 

Will futile be; I’m not under your spell;

Why? Thou art desolate; I’ll ne’er return. 

O Handsome shape! Fair complexion! With hair

Of black; and dark coffee-bean brown eyes, 

With allure that doth not have a pair;

Thou, charming man, dost draw me back to you 

As doth a drug: what hero(in) you are!  

When time shall this toxic relationship end, 

All that will remain will be eternal woe, 

And perhaps a friend or two, to whom I’ll say:  

“This man is a Fucker” – that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.  


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