F**k It

his poem captures apocalyptic anxiety through surreal domestic imagery - moths eating calendars, philosophical milk, roses with trust issues. The "f**k it" refrain embodies that particularly British r

F**k It

The moths have eaten through the calendar again. My grandmother's thimble holds the last clean water whilst somewhere else, a child learns to count backwards from extinction.

The washing machine speaks only in dialects of drowning. My neighbor's cat has started collecting dust like its currency for the underground.

There's a museum of lost Tuesdays where the curator forgets which century we're borrowing from. The admission fee is one honest breath

Television static tastes like burnt sugar now. The milk has turned philosophical, asking questions about its own expiry date whilst the bread grows a conscience.

My mother phones to say the roses have developed trust issues. The postman delivers letters addressed to people we used to be.

F**k it then. 

Let the teaspoons inherit the earth. 

Let the forgotten umbrellas open their final parliament.

We'll sit in the ruins of Tescos, trading stories for batteries, learning to love the sound of civilisation's last hiccup.

F**k it. 

The ending was always written in the margins of someone else's shopping list.

Author's Note

Note for Reviewers
Please focus on the effectiveness of the surreal imagery and whether the domestic metaphors successfully convey apocalyptic anxiety without being heavy-handed. I'm particularly interested in feedback on the balance between absurdity and genuine emotion - does the weirdness enhance or distract from the underlying sadness? Also, does the "fuck it" refrain feel earned rather than forced, and do the obscure metaphors work cohesively to create a unified tone of British resignation? Less concerned with technical polish at this stage.

Reviews

[FlatDaddy]

I just read this to my wife. We agree, this is outstanding. So many wonderful lines make it difficult to grasp any central meaning other than obvious resignation at the state of the whole, misguided "fucked up" world, and maybe that's the point. Oh, there's a fine balance of absurdity and emotion; they bleed all over each other in a frantic waltz of courageous delight and anxiety. Too many lines for me to pluck out, point to, and admire. So I'll just say, F**k it.

[abbypullanlitandpoetry]

Thank you, truly. Your words mean a lot to me. It’s a strange and vulnerable thing to throw a poem into the world, not knowing if anyone will catch it. Knowing it reached you- and that you even shared it with your wife, means more than I can say. I’m so glad the chaos and emotion landed. Honestly, thank you. AP x

[FlatDaddy]

My pleasure.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I think the weirdness draws attention by slapping us in the face to wake us up.
Poetry should hit us hard so that we will not barely bat an eye and give it no second thought.
I like the metaphor of the roses developing trust issues...that is a very intelligent one for sure.
And the last line speaks volumes...Does it mean we don't get credit for our words? that someone else steals them? or do we want to give others credit so we can stay anonymous...maybe on their shopping list is notoriety for their poetry....maybe we just want to be a voice that is listened to, and then, maybe our poetry is from what's left of the people we used to be.
I think this works...at least your poem does for me.
j.

[Gee]

Far to clever and deep for me to attempt any sort of critique. Saying that I enjoyed the read and your back and forth with Jay G

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I just had to join into that interaction...see below.
Poetry is so much different than fictional prose...I think some just don't see it that way.
Hope you are well. I like how this poem is drawing such conversation....and as you say, back and forth...but also sideways too, I think, don't you?

[Gee]

Since joining in 2014 what you Jacob and a select few have taught me is that there is room for all of us and our differing writing styles, and I thank you for that

[Buddhistboy73]

This poem made me smile ..:)

I love the way you write about the mundanity of daily life but with such humour...

Moths eating through calendars....mothers calling about postmen....this is highly amusing...!
And then the teaspoons will inherit the earth....
Thanks for sharing this different and amusing poem....:)

Feel free to stop by and check out one of my poems...

BB73

[JayG]

• Please focus on the effectiveness of the surreal imagery and whether the domestic metaphors successfully convey apocalyptic anxiety without being heavy-handed.

You're trying to impress the reader with imagery that lies in your mind, but which the reader cannot see or know about. The problem is, if a reader is confused for a single line, that's where they turn away. And with that in mind, think about the first two lines:

"The moths have eaten through the calendar again."

Moth larvae may eat paper, but moths don't. And though your intent might be the larvae, it's not what you said.

• My grandmother's thimble holds the last clean water whilst somewhere else, a child learns to count backwards from extinction.

I mean no insult, but this sounds like something that Bunthorn might have written (G&S, Patience)—more to impress the reader with how deep this "Deep young man" is, that communicate meaningful thoughts. As he puts it in the first verse of the song, Am I Alone and Unobserved:

If you're anxious for to shine
in the high sthetic line
as a man of culture rare,
You must get up all the germs
of the transcendental terms,
and plant them everywhere.

You must lie upon the daisies
and discourse in novel phrases
of your complicated state of mind,
The meaning doesn't matter
if it's only idle chatter
of a transcendental kind.

And every one will say,
As you walk your mystic way,
"If this young man expresses himself
in terms too deep for me,
Why, what a very singularly deep young man
this deep young man must be!"

Michael Ball gave an excellent performance of the song, here:

G&S - Patience, or, Bunthorne’s Bride
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eu_Xk_Vl6fk

And as you're taking a Creative Writing degree, as against one in Commercial Fiction Writing, if your studies are like most of the Creative kind I've seen, their primary focus is on the literary and classic genres. So, if you hope to write moneymaking fiction, grab a copy of Dwight Swain's, Techniques of the Selling Writer. His focus is on the structural issues of Commercial fiction. It's an older book, but still, wonderful.

An alternate, more modern book is Jack Bickham's, Scene and Structure.

[abbypullanlitandpoetry]

Thank you for reading the piece, I do appreciate you taking the time.

Just to clarify, the poem is intended as an absurdist and sarcastic response to collapse, not as an attempt to sound profound. The imagery is meant to be surreal and domestic, with a deliberately disproportionate tone that leans into the ridiculous. The idea is not to impress the reader with how deep it all is, but to sketch a world that has already lost its bearings where the ordinary becomes strange and language starts to slip.

So yes, the moths and the calendar aren’t about literal biology. That line is there to set the tone: time is falling apart in quiet, domestic ways. The grandmother’s thimble holding the last clean water is absurd by design. The aim isn’t solemn reflection, but to present the apocalypse in miniature, strange, trivial, and bleakly funny (in my best attempt at it). I’m not asking the reader to be moved by the thimble. I’m inviting them to recognise the futility of seeking sense in any of it.

I am, oddly enough, flattered by the Bunthorne reference. But I do think the poem’s tone may have been misread. It is not trying to posture as meaningful, it is mocking the whole idea of trying to find meaning in the ruins. The voice undercuts itself constantly, especially towards the end. That is why F**k it is the title. It frames the piece from the outset and returns in the final stanza. The whole poem spirals toward that phrase, which is both punchline and thesis. It is the exhausted refusal of false depth, not a failed attempt at it.

As for commercial fiction, I appreciate the recommendation, though it is not a direction I intend to go in. My current degree, and the master’s I’ll be beginning next year, will focus on experimental and political poetry, particularly in absurdist and postmodern traditions. The work I’m pursuing is not designed to sell, it’s designed to confront, question, and play. Commercial structure has its place, but it is not where my interests lie.

That said, I’m always glad to hear how the work lands with different readers. Thank you again for engaging with it so fully.

[JayG]

• "Just to clarify, the poem is intended as an absurdist and sarcastic response to collapse, not as an attempt to sound profound."

If only your intent for the word-meaning made it to the page, or...the reader could know the emotion and other aspects of your performance to add to the reading.

One very effective technique, I've found, is to have the computer read my work to me, to better hear how it sounds to the reader.

[abbypullanlitandpoetry]

Appreciate the follow-up. Honestly, I would say the intent did make it to the page just not to you. That is a difference worth noting.

Tone is tricky, especially with absurdism and sarcasm. If my poem leaves you confused, disoriented, or scared or any strong emotion really then isn’t that what poetry is about? Some ambiguity is not a bug it is a feature.

And just so you know this very poem scored me a first for my second year at university so it is clearly hitting the mark somewhere.

I do read my work aloud regularly but cheers for the tip anyway.

Always a pleasure to spar over poetry.

[JayG]

• I do read my work aloud regularly

It will always work if YOU read it aloud, because you perform it as you read. That's why, when part of a critique group, the author shouldn't read their own work to the group.

[abbypullanlitandpoetry]

Thanks for the tip, but I’m happy with how it landed.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Ambiguity makes poetry work. If everything is laid out for us, the entire thought process for each reader is dictated. I like poetry that makes me wonder, makes me fill in the blanks...I don't want them all filled in for me...poetry is not information it is feeling...and I get plenty from this poem, feeling AND attitude.
j.