Write your own story

BLAND, gray is the landscape;
DUSTY the car, the gravel roads.
FRUIT in the passing orchards,
LAYER on layer, has that tint of the
LOWLY, like men rising, who are
MINERs, from the pit at day’s end.
QUOTH my friend, sweating, ‘The
SCRUB ahead seems a sweet place to
SLEEP, to make camp. Open. Clear. My
SNOUT finds it out. I take my
STAND upon the very air itself, I
SWEAR by mine own career as a lion
TAMER it will go well with us.’ My
UNCLE – wrecked, panicked,
UPSET – groans. His antipathy to my
WACKY friend clearly shown.

Not being hunted

TAMER days for the boar are for a slow forest meander,
SNOUTing for truffle, trotting into glades.
BLAND is good, the scent of pine and quiet in the round.
SLEEP in thickets, and only occasionally dream of the dogs.

Too big…

‘ALTAR my suit, tailor. It’s too big around the
CHEST.’ ‘I can alter it, sir, make you look like Walter
DRAKE. Would that
DROOP your demeanour or
ELATE you?’ ‘Don’t be daft, man. I have to
EMCEE an important conference and I can’t look like a
FISH, You know, a fish about to
FLAIL around in something far too big for it.’ ‘I
GUESS I could do it, sir, though it would
HAUNT me to think that the
MICRO thread would be misaligned, like a
RIVER running, disappearing, then running. It would
SMOTE my heart. My long tailoring experience,
THERE, in that back room, would be affronted.’ ‘Your maxillary
TORUS will be affronted if you don’t do as I ask. Hurry man, my
YACHT sails on the noon tide.’

Attributed to various satirical artists