A Poem Off The Top Of My Head

Off the top of my head
A poem sprang like a pilchard
Wrapped in a disgruntled doily
It's time weary face
Etched with brine and balsamic vinegar

I weaved a second verse
From an old badger's batik vest
A mildewed resting place
For gannets and elongated ducks
Tired of trifle

Plunged into a third
Vat of words dipped in effluent
I saw an elephant laughing
Skipping like a pneumatic truncheon
Over a puddle of plasticine