A Telling Nuisance

An unsolicited greeting, or gesture to… below ground

Retreating with a mimed acceptance, barely a sound.

Gesture not accepted, and no way could it be

For Anon faces a camera, hands raised for all to see!

“Ladies and Gents…. Our wannabe champion….”

“From Thereton….. Mr Anon… An- … -Anion!

Offended, the nuisance cashier mutters to himself

Eyeing the till, special-offers and props on his shelf.

Anon declares to the judge his name, birthplace and task

Before the showy ritual - the donning of gown and mask

“At the Podium Kiosk, the Card Payment Championship!”

“Slick mechanism, sterilised keys, rubber floor to grip!”

Cashier gets in first, stamping and barking the price

One-nil to me!….. (one hundred would be nice!)

Anon opens his wallet, hardly caring to check

Then approaches the tills with nerves beginning to wreck

“Let’s keep it clean and honourable... hey…. if we can….”

“Come on now, no silly distractions for the man”

Two-nil! with “PUT YOUR CARD IN!”

The freelance wants three, poising to demand the PIN.

Anon’s unaware, trembling up to the starting point

Un-gowning and posing, flexing and testing each joint

“No stopping him, or him. Anon’s ready to attack!”

“That poor card reader!…. After today it won’t be back!”

Cashier turns a heater up - two birds with one stone

And hitting again - pressing ‘call’ on his phone.

Anon flinches, but sets the wheels in motion

Nearly oblivious to the outside mobile commotion

“Can we….? No I’ve asked this one before….”

“Put your nuisance self with that noise, out the door”

Trying to command Anon, for the PIN or who care’s what

But the cashier’s stilled, may as well have been shot.

Anon’s display beckoned, was answered like a gunfight

He manoeuvres for the last hurdle, nearly in sight

“To the God of Keypads…. This one is rough!”

“Arrrgggghhhh! Haha! Zap ‘em…! Anon does his stuff!”

Only thinking now, Nuisance misses his chance

He mouths words but he’s locked in a trance.

With powdered hands, Anon’s last move’s ready to play

Then as the readout signals, he rips apart his prey.

“Oh, he beat you again! Is he a total bastard?”

“Go on, for a big laugh – say “Boss! Remove your card!”

Inside, commiserating at his hopeless out-witting

Cashier gropes out-of-date offers, still not submitting.

The score is added and as the camera flashes light a blaze,

Anon parades the aisles and accepts a winner’s praise.

“Our Thanks and Good-Night from the Podium Kiosk.”

“Also, I think that one’s to go back to the mosque.”