Get into my car, we're having a drive.
I'll have you back home at a quarter to five.
Put your feet on the bonnet, and don't mind the mess.
Crisp packets, coke cans and even more I can't guess.
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Thank you for joining me, you're inside my art.
With clever placed words as its chassis and heart.
We're doing just fifty, on a large motorway.
And if you don't mind, there's some things I should say:
You have hands and arms, or maybe you don't. So make an art today.
You have ideas and inspiration, or maybe you don't. Just make an art today.
You have talent and ability, or maybe you don't. So make an art today.
All that it requires is the breath in your body, you don't even need to be good.
This poem has no meter. And it doesn't even rhyme.
I can even rhyme 'today' with 'today' three times. And I'm allowed to do this.
*The car begins to swerve on the road. We're now up to seventy miles an hour.*
This is my art I made today, with it has more holes than Swiss
And it's just a bunch of cheesy jokes stapled together.
Do you get the joke there? Cheese and Swiss? That wasn't a very good joke but I'm allowed to make bad ones.
*The car is up to ninety. There is smoke coming from within the bonnet as it exits the motorway, ignores the main road and heads into a giant patch of scrubland.*
Because this is my art I made today.
I am the driver of this, and if I wish I can pull the steering wheel off of the road and through a scenic forest whilst you yell at me to get back onto the road and start using iambic pentameter or dactyls or pyrrics or tropees.
*I pull the steering wheel and lead the car back onto the road.*
And I can pull back, sure, now look at me go.
The car's going back, back into the road.
And you sigh because look, the rhythm is stable.
Everything is fine, in this lyrical fable.
I swerve into oncoming traffic.
CRASH!
*A little later, when the car has been towed away and the police are questioning me, you pull away from the small town TV reporter in order to come over and argue with me.*
I understand your frustrations and I get that you're mad.
But look at it this way, try not to be sad.
You were the one who got into my car.
You were the one, who came with me this far.
And you were the one, who sat in the front seat.
And on the bonnet, you placed your feet.
I've gotta be honest, gotta tell you the truth man.
Did you really think the tins were used cola cans?
