Poet Authority Poem Terminal

The sort who'd fly to those confusing sandy countries.

They'd get together at night and burn the documents.

The flames summoned Pritt Stick.

Her face doubled in size as she grinned through the fire.

She regretted her loss of innocence.

Everything just seemed so much more suggestive now

Two brothers hatched a plan to save her.

Chased her around the world.

The villain of the piece left them a note.

Told them they were playing to tropes and it all seemed a bit sexist.

The brothers felt guilty.

Apologised on Twitter

Spent a few weeks getting hammered on a beach instead.

"The plan's all here, folks!"

He plunged deep into his cavernous pockets and tugged on some notes.

They fluttered from his greasy fingers and scattered across the podium.

He cursed at his appendages and shuffled the notes back together.

Began to ramble incoherently through the jumble of pages.

Saturday was curry night!

He did one of his favourite impressions while delivering that news.

People were allowed to order pizza on Tuesdays.

Restaurants then had to close to disinfect the pizza boxes and hang them out to dry and things like that.

McDonald's could keep drive-throughs open, but only with permission to serve people weighing over fourteen stone who were riding bicycles.

Haircuts were being rationed to fifty strands a day.

And finally, of course, the schools were back.

Children would be sealed in unless they all promised to hold their breath.

For homework they'd be given three coronavirus test kits to complete every evening.

Boris threw his notes on the floor and barrelled out of the building.

Shortly after he picked up another.

He tried to come up with a relevant joke before silently placing them back down.

He'd turned off the light.

I tried to hook a mask around its face.

It swerved my attempts.

Slapped away at them with my telescopic pointer.

Explained how it wasn't just risking our lives, but thousands more.

Briefly I felt important.

The fly landed on one of my graphs.

I could feel it.

It was trying to undermine me.

Wondered if anyone else knew this time existed.

Ralph chased down Bessie.

Her lumbering frame was deceptive.

It was a challenge, but Ralph loved the hunt.

He hacked away at her legs until she crumpled.

Gorged on her remains.

Fed some of her to his family.

Sort of smiled, I suppose.

They banded together and started chasing the referee around the field.

They tugged at his pockets.

Tried to retrieve his cards and send him off.

I bolted my door and screamed "covid" at the top of my lungs.

She was smashing on the windows.

Recipe book in one hand, frying pan in the other.

She turned towards the door and charged headfirst.

Her sieve helmet crumpled.

The bolts held.

Delia hauled herself back to her feet and resumed clubbing the windows.

A spatula had found its way onto the flower bed.

Some blacksmiths arrived.

Began pulverizing him with their poking rod things and also those hammers they use.

They would issue one lucky couple with clear balls to meet up and roll around in.

Everyone tuned into the BBC for the big reveal.

The lucky couple couldn't believe it!

They plugged in Zoom, planned the big day, and waited for the military to fly in the meet up spheres.

Ben wore his cravat to mark the occasion.

Daisy mounted a beret upon her head.

They both wore shoes with good traction to help with rolling, as per gov recs.

Suddenly the balls thunked against the ground outside their front doors.

Ben and Daisy were blasted with disinfectant as they clambered into the orbs.

Both set off at the same time, rolling to their arranged meeting point in Stratford.

News networks filmed it and people cried and cheered.

Some were enraged by the display, of course.

They pelted the orbs with eggs as they rattled by their windows.

The military's helicopters had water jets on them to deal with that sort of thing.

Daisy spotted Ben approaching and gathered some speed.

She tripped attempting to mount a kerb and Ben laughed at her, but she let that go.

It was just like real life all over again.

Their balls clacked together and they kissed through the Perspex.

"Fifteen millionish jabs administered!"

Boris applauded himself.

Gurned awkwardly at the camera.

He ordered Matthew to cheer as loud as possible.

Started muttering about accidentally issuing them all to the same person or something.

Matthew was whooping away like nobody's business.

Waiting for this all to blow over I suppose.

He took advantage of the dog to resolve the situation.

She looped them around her plate.

Plopped down a steak and tucked in.

The plants mocked the slab of meat.

Cheered as the blade sawed it in two.

Her neck craned forward.

She gawked at the documents.

Stooping ever lower.

Pens shuffled into her hands.

Her tendrils wrapped around the biros and she went to town scribbling over the details.

Cackling to herself.

Suddenly Queenie found herself clamped to the papers.

The crown was heavy, she couldn't move an inch!

She jingled some Land Rover keys and the slaves came running.

They prised the monstrosity off her head and hauled her back into the throne.

He didn't tell them this was going on.

He tried to keep quiet and only ate little bits of things from the fridge.

Some nights he'd tweak the thermostat.

"I'm Batman!" he rasped.

"No, you're not" said Laura.

Eugene sheathed his batarangs and grappling hook and got in bed.

Scooped hundreds of the rods into his tracksuit and fled home.

Slapped at the air as he went.

He began conducting hourly tests on himself.

His cavities were raw.

He felt so alive.

They were all slightly out of sync and some of the dancers kept stuttering to stay in time.

One of them tripped over a cat.

Another had shattered her foot after kicking her desk.

The chief dancist was fuming.

The government issued another clapping.

Some old chap had died.

Everyone had to bundle out of their homes otherwise they'd be executed.

The neighbours hadn't seen each other in months, they all started gossiping.

Some suggested that maybe the government's advice was what killed him in the first place.

Boris Johnson appeared on big screens and over newly installed loudspeakers.

He insisted the proles clap louder to drown out any such nonsense.

He guffed to make the British flag flutter in the background.

"Good old British humour, that"

He blathered on about how the British invented comedy for half an hour and continued trumping towards the flag.

He enjoyed the surprise of the tone.

The feeling that guests were arriving.

Sometimes he'd unlatch the door to make the occasion feel even more authentic.