1. Bugger. I had this idea, too, but then guessed you had probably got there first and I was right:

    Not His Type

    His name was Cooper Black
    and he was hench beyond belief,
    with his inky hair and film-star looks:
    like a young Omar Serif.

    Music was his forte
    and Gillian, with a shock, fell
    for him. He played guitar
    and he couldn’t half Rockwell.

    On their first date at the Space Bar,
    her heart, it went batang! kaboom! –
    but their lack of common interests was
    the elephant in the room.

    She hated nineteenth Century Gothic,
    preferred to read The Ipcress File.
    His favourite novels were Victorian:
    he was a Bookman Old Style.

    Her top film was Pulp Fiction.
    He gave the Tarantino guy no hype.
    He liked hardwood flooring,
    while she was more the Palatino Linotype.

    Even their detergents showed
    they were printed in different moulds:
    he washed his clothes in Arial,
    she washed her clothes in Bold.

    She thought their love eternal,
    but Cooper had a different view.
    He sent a note by Courier
    to tell her they were through.

    He had a right to end things,
    but he didn’t do it right.
    One has to view his actions
    in a grotesque light.

    He wouldn’t tell her to her face
    their brief affair was over
    and he went off in her Vauxhall,
    so now she was Gill Sans Nova.

    Slighted by this jokerman,
    Gillian can see
    he was not the font of all wisdom,
    but neither, though, was she.

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