So… my Uncle is a loner,
though you may have seen him on the news
He built himself a cloner
that he had promised he would not use.
Whirring, groaning, when first turned on,
it formed a shorter, hairy, homegrown clone
He turned it off, turned it on and thereupon
the half-grown clone was not alone.
And that was why, Uncle had agreed
to no longer clone in Weston-Super-Mare.
So on visiting his house, I was surprised indeed
to find shorter versions of him everywhere.
Little people in the garden. Little people in the shed.
Some of them in the bedroom bouncing on the bed.
Little people on the seafront. Little people before the fire.
One of them sitting on the toilet and lighting up a briar.
Little people in the kitchen. Little people in the sink.
Two of them in the cabinet demolishing the drink.
Little people in the pond. Little people sitting on the wall.
Several making next door’s cat decide home was better after all.
Little people on the floor. Little people swinging from the lights.
Little people on the roof where they were flying little kites.
Little people underfoot. Little people in your hair.
It didn’t matter where you looked – there’d be a little person there.
So… my uncle had opted to pursue
his hirsute and diminutive transforming.
He said “I understand your point of view
but, you see, it’s hobbit forming.