I shot him with the poetry gun.
He looked thoughtful then advanced, bugger it’s only set to haiku.
I turned the dial quickly and fired again. He laughed, what’s this gun set on now? Crap it’s a limerick, I twisted the dial.
One last chance, I turned the gun up to its maximum setting. Holding the trigger down I riddled his body until the ammunition indicator hovered near empty.
As he died I looked at the gun’s new setting.
It read, a selection of the wielder’s angst-ridden shit he wrote at junior school when Becky wouldn’t go out with him.
I don’t remember writing when I was at school I thought, I can’t have been that bad. I held the gun to my head and pulled the trigger and the last thing I did was remember I was.
Richard Archer often imagines he is a poet. He has written far too many books all of them are on Amazon, he recommends A Pigeon Among the Cats.
Richard Archer often imagines he is a poet. He has written far too many books all of them are on Amazon, he recommends A Pigeon Among the Cats.
Nice one 😀😀
ReplyDeleteBravo!
ReplyDeleteOh, this is good!
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