Poet Authority Poem Terminal

I couldn't believe it.

I coated my cat in coughs.

Deployed him to the neighbourhood

Covid.

They've all forgotten to care.

I'm a mere inconvenience.

I should have done this during the early days.

The glorious times.

The times of sympathy.

I scooped up a fistful and dumped the dose directly in my mouth.

Formed a line with some leftovers and snorted that too.

I was all in.

"Let's blow this joint, Kenneth"

I said to Kenneth.

Kenneth carried me on his shoulders.

We looked mighty.

Use bigger words.

I remove my hair,

Give the brain room to breathe.

But then I decide I don't want to do that.

Thank you.

Clickety-clack

The game is afoot.

A vixen

Wendy watches

From a nearby tree.

Occupants unaware.

Clickety-clack.

Started walking on his hands

So that people might think he was happy

I expect

A nice little cotton number.

He stitched that on the back and made out he was a professional footballer.

They encouraged the country's entire workforce to go on strike at the same time.

This plan would hopefully get it out of their system and minimise disruption,

A vile little journalist who dared ask questions was told.

Staff could be seen in the background,

Shuffling around bottles of wine,

Loading doylies with cake.

To solve this he ate it.

But then he couldn't figure it how to charge the damn thing.

So he ate a changer.

Of course this meant he couldn't plug it in.

So he ate a socket.

This continued for quite some time,

Eventually culminating in him eating his house and the local power cables.

Became known as thin cat.

Ate the family's pet bird to celebrate.

A woman who goes by the name Jill Watford,

Made her way to a bakery.

On arrival she bought some bread.

By the time she got home,

Somehow owing to the exceedingly hot weather, you see,

The bread had turned to toast.

I looked out across the flat sea.

What if I failed?

My fears swelled.

I did stretches to ease the tension.

Warmed up the old throwing arm.

Cocked it back.

And away!

The rock flew from my grip.

Repelled by the water.

A bounce!

A bounce!

A bounce!

A bounce!

"Yes," I cried, "I am worthy!"

I squeezed into a train with the rest of the city dwellers.

It dragged us sardines to Brighton.

I grabbed chips and hurled myself towards the sea.

I collapsed and baked in the sun.

Waves would have crashed against the shore.

But there were no waves.

Steven helped himself to the chips.

Sweets called to me.

I picked and mixed.

Mined for them like gold.

£50 later I was content.

I could live happily for 10 minutes.

Hair swept back,

Jacket fluttering in the wind,

Leg cocked,

Shades on,

One hand on his knee,

Another in his pocket.

By night he'd scurry home.

Scan the internet for new pictures.

Walked beneath a low hanging doorway.

Four hit their heads.

The fifth noticed this.

Went along with it anyway.

Things went downhill fast.

No one escaped a few negatives.

I stared angrily at Roy.

I knew that guy couldn't be trusted.

He wouldn't even make eye contact with me.

Steve couldn't bloody believe it.

All of that time and money sourcing royal intestines and the queen didn't even bother to show up for a tasting.

Hell, she'd barely even been on the bloody TV.

Steve was this close to folding up the bunting in disgrace.

The Queen could sense it.

Her guards were deployed.