All the poets on Twitter

‘I’ve been busy,’ says the book.

‘How?’ I say.

‘Twitter!’ says the book. ‘It’s great fun, you should try it.’

I stifle a yawn and gaze at the book while it wriggles in its chair.

‘I know about Twitter,’ I say eventually.

‘It’s fantastic,’ says the book. ‘All the poets are on there. I even found you!’

‘The poets and me,’ I say. ‘You really know how to flatter a guy.’

‘It’s great,’ the book says again. ‘I set up an account, a false one, just for fun.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘To keep an eye on people. Want to know what it’s called? It’s called – ‘

‘-I don’t want to know, no.’

‘You can quote tweets now, you don’t just have to retweet people. You can quote the tweet and then name someone and say ‘This is great’, or ‘You might like this.’ It’s so clever.’ The book starts rubbing its hands together.

‘You need to get out more,’ I say. ‘And if you follow me, we’re finished.’

‘Um, it might be too late for that,’ the book says. ‘Sorry.’