Poet Authority Poem Terminal

He stuck pins in the thing,

And it caused him pain!

He apologised to his ex.

Told her she was probably right.

Jasper's birthday arrived.

He wore his special birthday hat.

Gestured toward it during conversation.

Some polite smiles and nods returned.

The hottest sun of them all.

He equipped a shovel,

Dug them up,

And threw them in his pond.

'Fucking figure it out for yourself then!'

He screamed at some petunias.

His neighbours were shocked.

They tried to cover their daughter's ears.

But it was already too late.

He likes eating off the floor too.

It had somehow accumulated more objects than she knew existed.

She added a bike to the stack and went back indoors.

He liked to utilise them in various ways,

Fried, roasted, mashed, and so on.

Sorry, potatoes.

John wore his headphones,

Smiled at people who tried to ask him questions.

Added a thumbs up if they didn't move on.

And enjoyed the silence.

And his portable toilet,

Which he owned after an ill-advised camping trip,

And moved into an escape room.

He liked the vibe.

The spaceship sounds.

The glowing buttons.

The occasional meetings with staff trying to get him to leave.

He thought maybe they'd become friends one day.

In an attempt to impress his girlfriend,

Robert cooked spaghetti.

She walked in half way through the job.

Spent the rest of her evening trying to untangle him from the saucepan.

Despite all of his excitement surrounding the upcoming election,

And all of the coverage of the upcoming election.

It was just damn near impossible to decide to who vote for in the upcoming election.

He decided to base his pick on the colours he liked most.

Like picking a horsey for the Grand National.

He tried to imagine the candidates mounting their lecterns.

Wearing their little jockey outfits.

Spying on his neighbours.

He learned they were incredibly dull.

Started gifting sex toys to see if that would spice things up.

Nothing worked.

His spying gear gathered dust.

Glen wished he'd spent his money elsewhere.

He sat on the kerb in his military fatigues.

Wondering if he should shoot the people who witnessed this.

He deployed vague gestures to cover this up.

Scotland was beginning to look like it was in the south.

The weatherman teared up.

Eyes glistening as he gestured towards Dundee in Cornwall.

It reminded him of the little raining cloud icons on his map.

He spiralled.

Their fur,

Their ears,

The general features of a cat.

Then he went to sleep.

He'd plonk it down whenever a conversation was in order.

Take some authority over proceedings.

And claiming to be a wizard.

He went and had his name changed too.

To Paul the Wise.

And then again to Iglucius the Wise,

Because he realised the problem was the 'Paul' bit.

And then he hoped there was nothing offensive about Iglucius.

A fisherman arrived at the aquarium,

Adorned with waders and a telescopic rod.

He promised staff he wouldn't be causing any trouble,

And produced a suspiciously legible letter from his doctor.

And then wrote a poem about it.