I’m a Poet ©
I’m a poet, yes I am. I can rhyme mine with thine. Or whatever. I can repeat a verse two or three times, thinking its improving with repetition . I can write an ode to a toad, I can talk about slime and mud, and splash as the toad escapes. What if it’s really a frog who can tell the difference anyway?
I can wax lyrically about the moon in the night sky, even if nobody really knows what “wax lyrically” means. It’s to do with the bikini line isn’t it, or uni-brow removal. The moon the moon, why does it make us swoon? The moon the moon, why does it make us swoon? See if I repeat the line it makes it ever so much more powerful. I am the new Lord Byron. You don’t know who HE is/was/whatever can’t you just go Google?
The heart, the heart, it bleeds and weeps when we are apart, I cannot stand the pain, that’s why I have all the weight gain. Oh comfort eating, oh comfort eating, that’s why my pants are splitting, because I miss you so much, the pain the anguish, the soul destroying anguish. When will you be back from the shops with my triple size frozen family size pizza. Then the longing, the tears will stop.
You rush through the door, I can see you once more, you drop the plastic bags to the floor. The pizza rolls out across the floor, I rescue it from the cat, who’s just finished a nap, stretching stretching, the cat claws at the pizza wrapper. Such a clever cat, it delights in being a chef, pussy just loves pepperoni, so I flip the pizza in the oven, gas mark 7.
Then I turn my attention to my love, sent from heaven above, removing her gloves to put her hands in the suds to warm her beautiful hands, from the cold cold cold cold outside. 4 repetitions in a sentence, such great poetry. As I wipe her hands on the tea towel I look into her eyes, yes she did bring me a surprize, a surprize I can see in her eyes. Triple double dip donuts, she loves me she love me, the Lord Byron of Birmingham.
The cat rubs his body against the oven, the house is so cold, we can’t afford to keep the heating on, we huddle against the oven for warmth. Soon the pizza is ready, soon the pizza is ready, it is ready soon. We are over the moon as soon the pizza is ready. The cat claws at the oven door, the oven door is clawed at by the cat, how the cat claws at the oven door, how the cat claws at the oven door.
The smell of the pizza fills the house, the smell of the pizza fills the house, how the pizza fills the house with its smell, the smell the smell, all is well, the pizza is done, the pizza is done.
The smoke alarm rings and rings and rings, the pizza is ready the pizza is ready, are you ready too, are you ready too. The pizza is ready. You open the oven door, you open the oven door, the oven door is open. The cat is ready with its claw, the cat is ready with its claw.
The pizza is flung, the pizza is flung, like a frisbee, like a frisbee it is flung on the table. The cat the cat is ready for that. The cat is clever the cat is clever, such a clever pussy, such a clever pussy. The cat divides the pizza into eight, the cat divides the pizza into eight. No need for plates, no need for plates. The cat takes a slice, pepperoni is nice, a nice slice, a nice slice, a nice slice.
I devour the pizza, I devour the pizza sharing it with my love, sent from heaven above, sent from heaven above, well from the frozen food store anyway. Dripping pizza and sauce, dripping pizza and sauce we devour the pizza. We consume it, we devour it, we demolish it, we eat it, we scoff it, we we we, we just eat it. Enough of the verbs, enough of the verbs, we just have pizza, we just have pizza, pizza is had.
As for the cat it loves the pizza, pepperoni is its favourite, the cat sat on the mat, the mat was sat upon by the cat. Dripping in sauce the cat is cleaning its whiskers, its whiskers are clean, clean clean.
And what about us, and what about us? We are covered in cheese and tomatoes and pepperoni bits, the pepperoni bits are everywhere. So now that we are fed I carry my princess to my bed, to my bed I carry her, to my bed I carry her. Passion and Flatulence awaits, passion and flatulence awaits, but as we cannot afford to put the heating on that is perfect.
Love Passion and Pepperoni Pizza, with the cat asleep at the bottom of the bed. This is perfect love sent from heaven above. Sent from Heaven Above.
SENT FROM HEAVEN ABOVE,
Dedicated to Pretentious Poets Everywhere. 19th Feb 2014.