This used to be my favourite poem
for many years:
The Projectionist's Nightmare
This is the projectionist's nightmare:
A bird finds it's way into the cinema,
finds the beam, flies down it,
smashes into a scene depicting a garden,
a sunset, and two people being nice to each other.
Real blood, real intestines, slither down
the likeness of a tree.
'This is no good,' screams the audience,
'This is not what we came to see.'