When poets explode

[Leanne]

The lights are on in no-one’s pome
and all the cats have gone to play --
lock up before the rats come home.

Let slip the dogs in disco foam
as ravers rant the dark away;
the lights are on in no-one’s pome,

says Cleopatra, when in Rome
a bare asp makes the party gay
(lock up before the rats come home)

With two blind mice and one fat gnome,
they lit the blue boy’s stack of hay;
the lights are on in no-one’s pome.

An end awaits in monochrome
where all the hollow men are grey --
lock up before the rats come home.

We’ll renovate the pleasure dome
and wait where bottoms softly bray --
the lights are on in no-one’s pome,
lock up before the rats come home.