Poet Authority Poem Terminal

Merv the hitman was on a stakeout.

But he'd left his lunch on the kitchen counter.

His wife called the office and found out where he would be.

She took him a packed lunch.

Merv got in a muddle and shot her.

He reached an agreement with his target.

Merv would let him live.

And the target would dress up as his wife.

They lived relatively happily after this.

Who was a man,

So I'm just going to call them a postman from now on.

Packages started to mount.

Delays were occurring.

Mary's deliveries became less timely.

During one round of intercourse she demanded to know where her new jeans were.

The postman had to explain the backlog.

That they were probably in the big pile somewhere.

The mood was ruined.

He encouraged people to gather round.

Mike went to the kitchen.

He found the largest knife he could.

Returned to the party.

And stabbed Otto.

Later this was explained to the police.

They unlatched Mike's handcuffs.

Applauded his heroism.

In the morning he'd greet her cheerily.

He'd know she wouldn't feel like engaging.

He would enjoy that.

Symptoms include a willingness to ignore atrocities committed by host nations.

Plus additional clever things to say.

And a desire to own a football.

He didn't like it.

He had to go back to being straight.

Another option off the list.

The bland guy returns.

Even his order of quirky socks failed miserably.

He went on the hunt for some little orange people.

They were difficult to find.

Well.

There was one exception.

William didn't fancy employing that one though.

'Have you seen what's going on in the world?'

She said.

Tutting along the way.

Janet's friend John nodded.

Occasionally they met for coffee.

I don't like coffee.

A couple meet for the first time.

They marry and grow old together.

One of them dies.

But the remaining one remembers the good times.

This is all told in a comic strip.

And there's a like button you can click.

Frank started shaving.

He got carried away by the act.

Did his eyebrows too.

He turned to look at himself in the mirror.

Frowned.

It didn't really work.

He panicked.

Frowned harder.

Too fond, really.

He planted a tree.

In a decade or so he planned on using it to spy on them.

He noted this in his diary.

The globs of material he formed were atrocious.

He knew it.

He acquired a beret to counter any criticism.

Insisted people lacked the capacity to grasp his art.

Fred ordered a pizza.

The other guests assumed his pizza belonged to them.

He observed the vultures.

Begrudgingly distributed nods and smiles.

While there he bought himself lots of tins.

This aided his new hobby.

Pointing at tins.

Recalling memories of the olden days.

Mentioning how things used to be better back then.

There was nothing left to say.

Now she'd just complain about the weather.

The upcoming weather.

The weather a week ago.

It didn't matter.

This is what people were getting.

If they didn't like it they could leave her alone.

Archibald refused.

They came to a compromise.

Biscuits would serve as a replacement.

He set the latest in artificial intelligence to work.

Stroked the laptop's monitor.

Then informed the machine the action had taken place.

He found the experience to be lacking.

Set about shaving a neighbour's dog to resolve the situation.

He slathered the harvest all over his laptop.

Gave the petting another shot.

Eventually fur clogged the fans and he burnt his house down.

He had to explain to the fireman who was a woman that his dog burnt down the house.

And in addition that his dog was a laptop.

Plan A was weights.

He went off it quickly.

Plan B.

Chocolate.

Not what he imagined.

But he was proud of his ability to adapt.

And it was still a change of sorts.

Observed Candice.

John sloshed as he turned to face her.

She was barely more than a puddle at this point.

'Yes'

Said John.

Incapable of thinking of anything more to say.

He placed it in the drawer.

Under the old underwear.

It would be preserved for special occasions.