i thought i smelt bad on the outside!
now with this insufferable goon solo
hacking my insides away only to reveal
this succubus (this blonde boy tintin
i will revise the absolute truth of that
observation – phew! not a good start
i’ll say – & how he’ll go on to blow up
the death star (well that’s anybody’s
guess … whistle, snow-soaked winds!
hoth will turn my jellied intestines
to marble or glacial glass … within
its arctic embrace this taun-taun lies
in stasis waiting for jabba’s blowtorch
to thaw my ice-ripened scheme (yes his
daring shall be the subject of works
by post-soviet sculptors in a primeval
soup version of the earth (should its
release date ever come to the attention
of the censors … they’re everywhere
here you know even these snowy wastes
i call home (i’m sorry did i mention
milou? inside my cave grave i am a sole
tear whose trajectory is the radiance
of my native field (but he will melt
into being inside their mini-planets
from which the evil below has been
systematically eradicated armed only
with a snow-pistol & a drunken step –
tintin sensationally defeats the empire!
pausing only to scream as he destroys
what might once have been his dead dog.