Poet Authority Poem Terminal

Beside me stood a heavily tattooed guitar wielder.

We smiled.

The tourists continued unloading their luggage.

It felt endless.

Bag after bag.

After bag.

Our faces ached.

Our eyes turned awkward.

Fished out a compass.

Had quite a tragic backstory.

So while he needed to be dealt with,

His demise wouldn't be as fun as it could be.

The game was afoot.

Me vs. robot.

In chess,

No less.

I clasped a pawn.

Shuffled it forward accordingly.

The nerdbot grabbed my hand.

Squeezed upon my fingers.

Vicious sounds spluttered from its cogs and things like that.

My bones began to shatter.

I was sloshing down two cans of hard Coca-Cola a day.

Quivering like a fool.

Family were in tears around me.

Begging I drop the stuff.

Pleading for a return to normality.

Their waterlogged eyes stared,

I placed the can's spout to my lips,

Guzzled another mouthful.

A process almost instinctive.

I held the can aloft,

Masking the weeping family.

I stroked the can.

Leant in for another swig.

My body is a temple.

I chant ad nauseam.

Filling myself with chocolate.

All of the other adults seemed to be staying inside,

Windows misting around them.

Clearly there had been some misunderstanding.

He would lift his arms.

The children took to showering under the monsoon spewing from his armpits.

A producer ranted through John's earpiece.

"Smile at the bastarding sun, John!"

John was floundering.

His eyes were sweating.

He couldn't figure out which way was which anymore.

Desperate to please, John gives a big thumbs up (assumed).

His thumb wilted away.

And then Homer collapsed.

He stayed there and hoped someone would at least point a fan at him

Or something like that.

It was really hot is what he noticed.

Really hot.

Were his nails sweating?

Is that possible?

More of a moist slug in appearance, I suppose.

The local residents had hosepipes in hand.

Blasted the poor guy as he slithered down the pavement, gasping for air, begging for shade.

They became increasingly irate at the tardiness on display.

The delays to their deliveries.

Then I lied again.

Then I accused myself of lying.

Then I couldn't figure out if I was lying.

Everyone was confused.

I was confused!

I made up some new lies and threw out the old.

Simon replied in kind.

Dave's opinions were worthless compared to his own.

Simon knew this to be true.

He knew it!

He informed his wife, Eileen.

Eileen hadn't yet been,

To see the house of Maureen.

So she invited herself along.

Eileen devoured Maureen's Digestives.

And would occasionally knock on the door to tell Eugene they need to be home in time for Antiques Roadshow.

My fingers splash against the keyboard.

Heat saps my mind.

I watch in horror as my hands melt away.

You know the sort.

She just couldn't resist.

The moment calls rang out for an eviction,

Priti would appear.

It was like clockwork.

A narrow smile somehow filled her face.

She poked at her Johnson.

Who was, as usual,

Ejaculating the typical nonsense.

His pudgy arms clasped around a table leg.

Carrie stood by revving up a drill,

Eager to bolt the thing to the floor.

Was my hobby making me content?

I consulted with google.

Asked it this question.

I felt content.

Draped over a mysterious man,

Wearing a mysterious hat,

Standing in mysterious rain.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no,

No, no, no, no, no,

Oh, Alright then.

He looked pleased.

Did he always look pleased?

I don't know.

I wasn't paying attention.