The Evening News

I thought I would experiment a bit with 'found' poetry. The poem below is the result of flipping through the TV channels at about 6pm and jotting down lines that caught my ear. I haven't edited the words, just the order of the lines and the result is a slightly mystifying but intriguing account of the world. I had some trouble with TV reception on one of the channels and decided to build that in - you'll spot where, I'm sure.
The picture, a drawing I once made, seemed suitably strange to go with the poem.

It's Not a Gun

The conditions are a little harsh 
I think of it as a prize fight
part and parcel of

And it’s straight up to the top
a lousy forecast all right
in the parts of the world most affected

It’s the world’s biggest supplier of
mackapakmackapak mippipompom
we must tell foreign governments that

I warn you though that I’m a shark
from shale rock beneath the ground
I think I’ve got it the right way round

he’s making a sound with his nose
It attaches to this pipe
It’s like the only thing that makes him happy

divergent, a cash-in-hand deal
really, you really did mean that
it’s not a gun