Mary Shelley came out of the internet café
Biker boots and she was late handing in her essay
Black hair with crimson streaks
A small cross drawn on one of her cheeks
Two pendants hanging round her neck
A flaming skull and a memory stick

John Keats was in the window seat on his laptop
His trance state was blocking out the street but then he glanced up
Saw a vision in designer shades
Fanny Brawne on rollerblades
iPod on her belt and a cell in her hand
And an iPod remote control armband

It was afternoon break and William Blake was on day release
Wordsworth was in the Quantocks in an aquafleece
A poem came on and immediately
He mailed it to Coleridge as an mp3
Like a card swipe or a disc wipe
Later than night they talked about it on Skype

Byron was on a plane to Greece that was about to land
He’d almost got to the limit of his Facebook friends
On the minus side he was just holding it together
On the plus side he was trending on Twitter
His Myspace page was well-thumbed
And all was deformed transformed