Doom in the privet…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s existential angst is centred around the annoyingly odd spelling of the word rhythm…
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

So, Monday afternoon, I was walking up a busy road in the middle of an area of Dulltown frequented by university students, academics, and aging posh hippies. Suddenly a large piece of wholemeal vegetarian roast, accompanied by a round gob of brown rice, whizzed across my path and cascaded onto the pavement in front of me. I looked whence it came and saw some sort of tussle going on across the street. It was centred around the menu blackboard outside a vegetarian cafe, and featured a tall, shaven headed, but heavily ginger-bearded young waiter in a nice striped apron, and that ne’er-do-well local poet from the glory days of the Hull Surrealist League, Simon Doom.
Doom, struggling with the younger chap, gripped a piece of chalk in his hand and was attempting to write on the blackboard; he had apparently already erased the cafe’s menu using spit and a grubby handkerchief and was trying to replace it with one of his recent spoems (spoof poems). (I learned from him later that he always carries a piece of chalk – he likes to write pithy things on walls in unexpected places.)
Finally the waiter, who was a good foot taller and twice as wide as Doom, picked him up bodily and threw him into the hedge of a nearby garden. The poet lay there on his back giggling; he was obviously drunk. After I pulled him from his temporary privet nest and stood him upright he insisted that I should take a copy of his ‘marvellous’ new spoem…

Tanga tanga a’wan-wan!
Tollidge banooba pom tippy no,
Kaddi-cadeego bumma a’toz moz?
Flap-flip flap-flip flap-flip!

Bandy bandy a’chid-chid!
Spansh mudler tanz-toop tippy no,
Kandi-kop tushel pank isophone?
Flop-flap flop-flap flop-flap!

Sumpty sumpty a’qua-qua!
Tikki-pango sparch-gum tippy no,
Glandoline praznet uma-uma kok?
Fluke-fleck fluke-fleck fluke-fleck!

Womla womla a’spuck-spuck!
Fuffle dox-mox ponkie tippy no,
Leodonto marz tunder waggler?
Mog-mag mog-mag diddy mog-mag!

Simon Doom. 2016.

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, cafe, drama, Dulltown, existentialism, food, Hull.UK., humour, information, poetry, serendipity, surrealism, words, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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