Upset Mayonnaise…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s expletive is ‘By the bithmass!’ – the ‘mass’ part is of course from the holy mass, but my little book on swearing doesn’t mention the ‘bith’ part; perhaps it’s a corruption of ‘birth’, so perhaps bithmass is Christmas? Anyway it’s a good one isn’t it? I’m going to try to say it at least once today…

Tony Mayonnaise, poet from the glory days of the Hull Surrealist League, paid me a surprise visit last night. On opening my front door to his fist thudding he barged straight in, reeking of cigarette smoke, and announced that he was ‘very upset!…’
‘Oh?…’ I said with a deliberately audible sigh, which he didn’t seem to clock. He said that Simon Doom, also a poet from the glory days of the Hull Surrealist League, was ‘messing him about’.
‘So what else is new?…’ I said, and pointed out to him that their relationship had always been regularly punctuated with screaming rows and bloody fistfights… I also suggested that the reason for this was they were such similar people, and also, that when it came to their writing I couldn’t tell the difference between them. I let that hang in the air for a moment…
He looked shocked and surprised for a full minute, then quietly muttered something about ‘not looking anything like that bastard Doom’ and then said loudly, ‘I’m very upset!…’ for the second time.
‘Right ho…’ I said.
‘Here!’ he said, and took a crumpled sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and thrust it at me and added, ‘See how upset I am!…’ He blinked a few times and then announced, ‘I’m off to the fucking pub!…’ He left, slamming the door so hard my gilt-plastic-framed Mona Lisa wobbled, and then tilted a little on its hook…

Panza fidget huge, farce-memories,
Jemmy traipse antler, pond-feelings,
Spoon chicken belt, cork-hunch,
Windowless coffee mound, dance-sigh.

Balanced torte balloon, tape-gesture,
Shrub atoll spectacle, arch-glance,
Id block jumpsuit lustre, box-snort,
Temperate jiffy child, rolling-mumble.

Floating dream china, clock-nostalgia,
Itch basin rumba catch, frost-ache,
Yellow swerve boiler, door-musings,
Chock leaf obsidian honey, bow-rage.

Donkey stick feral hat, beam-smile,
Handstand cloud boom jet, scuttle-wink,
Glade gape moist pope, scissor-snarl,
Gaseous dry lunge pipe, smooth-memories.

Tony Mayonnaise. 2014.


About Dave Whatt

Grumpy old surrealist artist, musician, postcard maker, bluesman, theatre set designer, and debonair man-about-town. My favourite tools are the plectrum and the pencil...
This entry was posted in art, brain, conversation, existentialism, expletives, Hull.UK., humour, information, poetry, sex, style, surrealism, words, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Upset Mayonnaise…

  1. Great post. It is ridiculous when things go wrong between people. That’s a pretty damn fine angry poem by Mr. Mayonnaise. Let’s hope Mr. Doom finds it in his heart to move on. Sort of doubtful though.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s