I got a letter from Louis' school before half term. A poem that he'd written had been selected to be published in a book. Now before you start believing that I am deluded enough to believe that my son is going to be the next Wordsworth or Keats let me explain. This seems to be the literacy equivalent to the school photo. Produce a book with a load of schoolchildren's poems in it and flog it to their proud parents and as many families and friends as you can entice. It's a clever business idea but I'm one canny mother.
I had to sign some sort of agreement letter but there's no mention of relinquishing copyright so I've copy and pasted my boy's work here. It's now recorded for posterity for me to read at whim - for free. The bonus is that I don't have to plough through the offerings of a whole load of other teenagers who I don't know from Adam.
It seems that Lou has created a new kind of zombie poetry genre. Call me a biased mother. Even though I feel that the third stanza could do with a bit of extra work I actually quite like it.
Terminal Of The Dead
I got off the plane, the terminal was devoid of life. The floor was covered in dead bodies, but there was something different about them. I didn't know what.
I scanned the horizon for anything of use. About 20 metres away, I spotted a dead cop. I rushed over to him to see if he had a gun. I searched his belt.
I felt the texture of a pistol. I went to grab it but the cop's eyes sprung open.He groaned mindlessly. He grabbed my wrist and tried to bite me. He was a zombie!