Poet Authority Poem Terminal

I straightened out my pyjamas and peeled open the front door. 

And would you believe it,

There he was,

Farage himself.

He shoved some posies in my face and this goon next to him was trying to cram an oversized cheque through my letterbox. 

Farage gave him a gentle nudge and gestured toward the open door.

I sucked on a Smint.

Told Farage the sort of qualities I seek in a leader.

Rich, disconnected, desperate for attention, that sort of thing.

A real man of the people, you know?

I thanked him for dipping into the vast quantities of overseas donations received.

He released a brief ribbit from his chops.

Bounded off up my extensive begravelled driveway.

I smell like chocolate.

It's the classic.

Loaded up with eggs.

The weather getting warmer.

A disaster.

This stark white page isn't helping.

My eyes are closed now.

I can type with my eyes closed.

That's one of the benefits of having no life.

You pick these things up.

No lessons or anything.

No real effort to try.

It just exists within me.

It feels like I was born to do this.

Words forming rapidly as my fingers tap away.

Their process doesn't even register as a thought.

Just doing what they need to do to get things done.

As an insect to a giant.

I press my face into the eggs.

Begin masticating.

Larry,

An aging millennial,

Ended all of his sentences with his tongue out.

:P

Water glistens in the sun.

A crunch.

Another crisp down the hatch.

April licks her fingers.

A dog exists.

It does not belong to her.

Well, you know.

Apart from the occasionally treat if it just so happened to be around.

Trevor got bored.

Shipped out a few emails before bed.

The contents alerting people to his hatred of them.

He went to bed refreshed.

Spent hours resting his head on a pillow

Smiling.

Looked forward to tomorrow's responses.

She was quite upset about it.

As you might expect.

Paul consoled her.

Told her he knew how she felt.

For you see just last week his phone died.

That was a stressful couple of days.

He imagined being outside for a while.

There was a woman with shopping bags.

He turned back to his computer.

Sat back down.

Smiled.

He started breathing more heavily around people.

It was only fair.

He shouldn't be the only one to suffer.

Gina made a salad. 

She plopped the bowl on her kitchen table. 

Recorded the sight for Instagram.

Pulled in her shoes.

Headed to KFC.

Peter got himself a dog.

He named the dog Peter. 

The decision grew frustrating.

He explained to the besuited guy that he was AI.

This meant he wouldn't have to be replaced in the future.

And more importantly.

It meant the fact that his responses to any question vaguely complex were wrong was irrelevant.

He called the police.

Asked for their advice regarding the evidence.

Best ways to remove blood stains,

That sort of thing.

He went on to suggest it was unrelated to anything he had just done.

And anyway,

He'd never do that sort of thing.

And he was asking for a friend who was curious.

Then walking.

A short distance ahead appeared a cafe.

Next thing he knew he found himself standing in a queue.

He opted for a few stretches while waiting his turn.

Eyed an extremely large slice of cake.

Something that would replicate the challenge faced earlier.

A few days passed.

'Which one?'

Enquired the barber.

A tussle occurred.

Police were called.

Scissors were removed from one man's thigh.

Grape Boy tried to shed his moniker.

Too many people knew.

They kept buying him grapes.

Grape Boy couldn't resist.

It didn't look right.

He got in touch with the police.

Informed them of a suspicious person

Hanging about in his house.