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. Reply
Brian Bilston's Poetry Laboetry 
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.
I love it! Your poem is far superior (I’d even forgotten that I’d written mine). x
I love yours – I think we hit on a lot of the same puns xxx