When WeenGon, a god of lost socks and found chances, is in free mode, he varies in size according to the number of people who at that moment believe in him. One inch tall for every million believers. On holy days and during natural disasters he is often five metres tall (200 inches). He can also switch to lock mode maintaining any height in the range of believers so far.

Weengon, a god of lost socks and found chances,
took part in after-dinner conversation
with squirrels – two grey, one white – and a senile possum
who grinned at everything to appear wise

They played a round of futures-reminiscing,
it’s a fun game if some players are divine,
until WeenGon raised his hand and took a call.
‘I’m needed,’ WeenGon said. He waved and left.

The marsupial and the rodents saw blue space
where WeenGon had been. They forgot him and they slept.

WeenGon hurried, which meant he travelled on at godspeed
arriving before he’d left the dinner party.
He brushed his hair and watched the cavalcade.
‘Which limousine?’ He asked. His caller answered.

WeenGon transformed into a blip of errant lightning.
He burned through the panzered side of the big car.
He sat on the seat beside the Serious Person.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m WeenGon. We have to talk.’