Well done Trev. Should I get you a calendar? You are late, my friend. You were supposed to be a poem yesterday.
“Don’t look at me! I don’t write these, I don’t even exist! How can I turn up for something that’s purely in your own brain?”
Woah woah, Trevor, please. You have just as much agency as I. You surely do exist or is this conversation some kind of hallucination?
“Mate, I’m a figment that you put into the weird situations you choose. You think I want to have robot legs due to losing my originals as a child?”
You do not wish for robot legs? Man, I would love to be part electronic, especially the legs. Walking forever never stopping, not even for a sit down.
“Where’d you even need to go that running out of juice is a worry? You think you’re some kind of wrong trousers? Sleepwalking for real?”
No. No, that…that is not… Do I look plasticine? Wrong Trousers is a masterpiece, I am no such thing.
“Alright, how about messterpiece? That works. Anyway, you are technically having an argument with a character that you invented, in the middle of a poem.”
Please, they are pomes. Not poems. And no I am not, I am asking you why you did not appear yesterday for your scheduled pome?