• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 09


Your mission, should you choose to accept it
[I might]
is to embark on a guerrilla exercise
[A what?]
Maybe it’s my accent:  not the ape kind
[What other sort is there? Oh, never mind.]
whereby you accost strangers in the street
[Best place to find them, all right.]
yes, and ambush with a poem.
[Oh, a guerrilla poet, like?]
Precisely that, but sweet.
[And what sort of ah, poetry do I . . . ]
It depends on the situation, the context
[Oh, like if it was snowing, then Frost?]
Realistically, not so much snow in July.
[Maybe the daffodil one?]
It’s summertime, come on!
[I remember cycling one hot summer]
That could do it, but pedestrians . . .
[I know, there’s ambivalence, I wonder.]
How about the Daisy one, for two?
[I’ll have to memorise it through.]
Or maybe, on a lead, a little dog
[How much is that doggie . . .]
In the window, yeah, but better
[Not doggerel, you mean?]
You’re getting there. Just fit the scene.
[Or, like, make one up, there on the spot?]



An instant limerick, if you’re keen.
[If I find the right word, but then if not . . .]
Say it’s a woman in purple?
[Fiendish, that one, might go Jenny]
It’s always that, isn’t it, finding . . .
[aye, the right word]
This poem will self-destruct . . .
[Perfect ending — absurd as any.]