Cardboard Simon Armitage
Cardboard Simon Armitage
Went out in the rain,
He hadn’t checked the weather app—
He won’t do that again.
He met a dripping pieman
With pies all warm and round,
But Simon’s soggy paper head
Was tumbling on the ground.
The pieman gasped and pointed,
“Oh sir, your head’s not there!”
Simon shrugged (as best he could),
His neck all damp and bare.
“I’m made of cardboard, don’t you see?
The drizzle was my doom—
I need some tape to fix myself,
And maybe a dry room.”
Vroom** fetched a roll of sellotape
And stuck his head back tight,
Though slightly wonky on one side—
It didn't look quite right.
But cardboard Simon carried on,
All patched with shiny bands,
Reciting sodden sonnets,
Still clutching soggy strands.
** @Vroomfondleswaistcoat
(Poets in residence incl ChatGPT)