Sunday, 6 September 2009

These Words Aren't Mine


Guess what?

I don't think these words are mine,
Have I ripped this poem off?
Will I get sued,
And thrown in jail?
Such Humiliation!
Perhaps I may never return,
To my flat again,
For I reside,
In the nonsense poetry quarter,
There will be posters,
Of my disgraced face all over this place.
What if these thoughts aren't mine?
Should we be held accountable,
For our unconscious mind?

Standing at the bus stop,
I mentioned to a cute girl,
Next to me,
The bus is late again,
And she screamed back,
Excuse me!
Did you just say the bus is late again?
Did you? Did you?
Yes, I replied,
Why,
Do you disagree?
She turned deep crimson,
Disagree? Ha! Ha!
She exclaimed,
Those are my words,
Actually,
I said them just yesterday,
And you were standing,
There,
Right beside me!
You better watch it,
'Cause my boy friend,
Or ex boy friend,
If you must know,
Has mates,
And they are extremely,
Extremely vicious poets.
You've been warned,
Don't you steal any of my,
Creative juices again,
I'm from the left bank of the Thames.

Lesson learned.
I hope to never, ever,
Make such a stupid mistake again,
But, you know,
There is a part of me,
A small part,
But a part none the less,
That almost enjoyed it,
Now what does that say about me,
And my subversive unconscious?

Actually,
Thinking about it now,
I think it best,
If I throw away this poem,
So you can never read it,
So you can never know,
Because,
Living in the nonsense poetry quarter,
You can never be too careful,
The daffodils gossip like triffids,
Round here.