Since it is St Valentine's day, traditionally a time of shockingly dreadful poetry ( I just heard one on the radio: why can't people who can barely string a sentence together realise that 99.999999999% of people simply cannot write poetry, including those who can make a reasonable stab at prose, and that therefore virtually no one in the world should under any circumstances compose verse. Please) I thought I would add to the canon. It is inspired (I use the word in its loosest possible sense) not by love, but by its ugly sister, loathing.

Ballad of an editor who still owes me money

Well, he's a boil-brained blubber-blunder
Soil-stained head of dunder
Canker-sore
Wanker-bore

Once he was my editor
But I am still his creditor

Well, he's a lizard-tongued lumpen-headed
Canker blossom brain-deaded
Truth-mangler
Jeans:Wrangler

Once he was my editor
But I am still his creditor

Well, he's a pestilent pie-faced pigeonshit
He's a lumbering faecal dangling bit
Scatologically adverse
Universally perverse

Once he was my editor
But I am still his creditor

Well, he's a whimpering welching woodworm
With all the charm of heartburn
A louse, a lying leech
A fraudster and a thief

Once he was my editor
But I remain his creditor