Day 04 - Dark Jon

They scraped up the cells I left on the railing
at my last fightscene - Holburn to Baddington,
against the wind, against time, vaulting
like crazy - and they grew my clone
in a tank, remembering to add
(with a villanous guffaw) the dark essence:
1 part Mail headline, 2 parts taste
for the finer things. One, two, three
drops from a suspended pipette.

Dark Jon escaped his creators, bursting
free in a disco of glass, holding them up
by their lapels, and hissing,
"I don't take orders from nobody."
(Earlier, as the Warning: Critical alert sounded,
the doctor proposed that three drops
was one too many).

Now he Bodmin-beasts the streets,
my black-heart shadow, my scarred twin,
causing minor inconvenience
to all who cross his path
and occasionally ruining your day.
Every so often, he flirts with the idea
of world domination
over a Russian coffee.