3 Poems
Lower Goat Lane
OK. Two grannies sitting in the Copper Kettle
sharing a rolly the size of a cheroot,
locked in something that could be dispute.
One leans forward, says, “Ee, you know, Petal,
this is just the demo version. In the full game,
you get one hundred fat, finger-blistering weapons
—enough firepower to level the heavens—
over ten massive stages, plus tag and team
deathmatch options. And the men! The men
are more hulking than heavy goods vehicles. They’re
angular and shady—prone to going loco.
They’re ugly as sin but their A.I. is next gen.
Everything is guaranteed to thrill the player!”
And the other one says, “I should bloody well hope so.”
