Oh Dear Professor Wiggens

            
           
           
Gears, cogs and bearings were grinding;  
all attempts at lubrication had been in vain  
The large handle on the bright copper urn  
was vibrating like an unbalanced propeller

Professor Wiggens sighed, wiped the persperation from his brow  
with an old grey hanky-chief            
[which may have been white, fifteen or    
twenty years ago]            
Then he yelled "Bring me a strong black    
Americano, Mr Barrister!"            
kicking that urn with a resounding "gong"      
which echoed through the factory like a    
call to prayer, in a Monistory          
           
I like Wiggens, feel sorry for the old guy       
It's fourty years ago since building    
this damn factory            
which went so wrong;            
Well it didn't really go wrong, completely production is extremely high!            
           
Anyway Wiggens drinks twenty four to twenty six cups of Americano coffee            
every day and has done for fourty years            
This production facility with all it's steam  
handles            
glass, copper-pipe            
urns            
cogs            
bearings            
and wood;  
was meant to manufacture large amounts  
of strong-dark-roast-coffee            
You see, Wiggens completely          
messed up the design            
As a result            
the coffee machine pumps out            
fourty to fifty thousand poems a week      
No-topic            
no-style            
no-catagory            
no-form  
   
It just spits poetry out at an alarming rate    
It's not that bad;         
except that, Wiggens really does love coffee            
           
He also            
really can't stand            
           
poetry            
           
           
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