Our dinosaur balloon has lost its pep.
For weeks it commandeered the living room.
It swayed above its empire like an airship
puffing out its hull of aluminium
taut as a kettledrum. Its bouncy arm
insisted that we recognise its thaneship
and grant its natural right to lebensraum.
The old gods we were no longer to worship.
But now it slumps behind the laundry rack
for a patch and a pint of helium.
It’s far too late for us to take it back
and the Co-op refuses to mend him.
The vote’s already in for this month’s pick:
a unicorn, declared by referendum.
