Go, Pokemon, Go!

 

Billy, my Jack Russell, is still quite constipated,
so he sniffs the yellowed grass and whines,
his bowels straining with the effort.

Come on pal, I say,
please wrangle out a turd
before the gawpers come.

At least he is predictable,
just like Geoff the jogger,
who bang on time shoots from the bushes
by the bandstand, gives me a wave.
I don’t know what he does in there
but he always looks quite pleased,
and doesn’t bat an eyelid
at my furry Kermit slippers and my tatty dressing gown that
I wear every morning down the scabby council park.

I stamp my feet, impatient,
ready with the pooper scoop,
when I see a crowd come in the gate,
strangers, every one.
There’s punks and blue rinse grannies,
young kids, men with ties,
but something’s strange about these folk;
hunched hushed they come,
glued to their ‘phones and muttering;
at least a hundred shuffling
through some other world that hides.

Well, what an opportunity,
a proper audience for once,
so I whip it out to catch their eyes,
my gown stretched wide and welcome;
I expect some ‘Tuts’ perhaps,
shrieks or glances of derision;
but they drift right by,
I’m just invisible to them it seems,
my manhood droops in disappointment.

Then one stops dead and gasps,
turns to me excited,
points a finger at me, shouting,
Pikachu, Pikachu
well, they all prick up then,
craned meerkat heads all staring;
they all stampede at me, now frothing.

My dog’s not used to this, he’s off, me too,
gown gaping open wildly;
get me away from lunatics
that should be arrested promptly.

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8 thoughts on “Go, Pokemon, Go!

  1. In great So the charging Pokemon players didn’t cure the poor dog’s constipation? Seriously, you could turn this into a short story. I was trying to remember the Alan Bennett play – one of the Talking Heads, possibly – in which the mother despises her son – not so much for exposing himself but for doing it in front of Tesco rather than Waitrose (or similar).

    Liked by 1 person

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