What Did You Do In The Plague Daddy?
I heard Elvis McGonagall on the radio this morning and found this 'poem' (it doesn't rhyme).
What Did You Do In The Plague Daddy?
I did not bake sourdough bread
I did not learn Greek or read “Bleak House”
I did not feel the burn doing “bouncing bunnies” with Joe
“The Body Coach” Wicks
I did not sing Bobby McFerrin’s 1988 hit “Don’t Worry Be
Happy” in an a cappella zoom choir
I did not crochet my own crockery while watching Kirstie
Allsopp’s “Keep Crafting and Carry On”
I did not clear out the under-stairs cupboard or the
Augean stables
I did not bake banana bread #nomnom
I did not take up calligraphy
I did not tattoo a rainbow on my forehead
I did not Zumba in the street
I did not put on a puppet show of Marcel Proust’s “A La
Recherche du Temps Perdu”
I did not play be-bop jazz on my mediaeval crumhorn
I did not increase my emotional bandwidth
I did not knit Greek sourdough bread
I did not livestream myself Riverdancing with a sourdough
baguette stuck up my arse in front of my beautiful bookshelf
crammed with important, contemporary literature secretly
chosen for the colour of the books’ spines which when
arranged alphabetically form an exact reproduction of a
Mondrian painting
I did not embark on a journey of self-discovery to un-map my
life and acquire the tools to optimise my spiritual development,
sharing my enhanced consciousness with the world by talking
in an upward inflection
I did not podcast
I drank gin in the garden. In my pyjamas. With the cats
by elvis mcgonagall, june 2020
What Did You Do In The Plague Daddy?
I did not bake sourdough bread
I did not learn Greek or read “Bleak House”
I did not feel the burn doing “bouncing bunnies” with Joe
“The Body Coach” Wicks
I did not sing Bobby McFerrin’s 1988 hit “Don’t Worry Be
Happy” in an a cappella zoom choir
I did not crochet my own crockery while watching Kirstie
Allsopp’s “Keep Crafting and Carry On”
I did not clear out the under-stairs cupboard or the
Augean stables
I did not bake banana bread #nomnom
I did not take up calligraphy
I did not tattoo a rainbow on my forehead
I did not Zumba in the street
I did not put on a puppet show of Marcel Proust’s “A La
Recherche du Temps Perdu”
I did not play be-bop jazz on my mediaeval crumhorn
I did not increase my emotional bandwidth
I did not knit Greek sourdough bread
I did not livestream myself Riverdancing with a sourdough
baguette stuck up my arse in front of my beautiful bookshelf
crammed with important, contemporary literature secretly
chosen for the colour of the books’ spines which when
arranged alphabetically form an exact reproduction of a
Mondrian painting
I did not embark on a journey of self-discovery to un-map my
life and acquire the tools to optimise my spiritual development,
sharing my enhanced consciousness with the world by talking
in an upward inflection
I did not podcast
I drank gin in the garden. In my pyjamas. With the cats
by elvis mcgonagall, june 2020
