U is for Ode to a British Urn

You still unused large pot of cream

You unwanted gift of Christmas 1988

A dusty reminder, who can express

Why I haven't cleaned my cupboards

Full of bottle ring stains and cobwebs

Of dead spiders and perfumes that stink

In bathrooms or in the kitchen

What crap in inside all of these bottles?

What ancient spice? What congealed mascara?

What putrid hand cream? What decomposed biscuit? 

I've heard some bathrooms are sweet, but those unclean

Are gross, I should know, I have one

Not to the obvious inspection, but on a closer look

There's a huge pile of shit

In cupboards, drawers and even in shoe boxes

Because I stuff bottles, jars and tins everywhere

Bold cleaning is definitely not for me

I'd rather read a book, or take a run

All you pots and tins, just sit there for a few years more

Until I die and some other fucker gets to throw you out

****

Well, that got rid of U in a few minutes. I suspect Keats is turning in his grave right now. Oh well.

 What next..."V".  Oh crap.