Mayonnaise in the dark…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s carefully selected colours are: Austrian amber, Polish pink, Finnish fawn, Venezuelan violet, Madagascan mauve, Romanian russet, Turkish turquoise, and French Polish.

We are now all in, what seems to be called, ‘UK lockdown’.
Every three or four days, in the evening when everything is reasonably quiet and the streets are empty, I use my allotted outdoor ‘exercise hour’ to saunter into Dulltown city centre, to visit the big (now fenced off) supermarket to pick up some ‘necessary items’. Last night I was about half-way there when I spotted something – something orange in colour, coming up the pavement towards me; I couldn’t tell if it was walking, or if it was on wheels. It turned out to be a large bright orange plastic refuse sack – and it was walking, or rather shuffling.
When it got closer, I could see that it had two eye-holes cut into the front of it. I moved to one side so that it could pass at the regulation distance. As we got level it said, in a very stern male voice, ‘And where do you think you are going, sir?’
Instantly I recognised the voice as that of Tony Mayonnaise, failed poet from the glory days of the Hull Surrealist League.
I replied, ‘What the hell are you supposed to be – a bag of manure?’ There was a rustling of plastic, then a hand appeared from the opening at the bottom with a scruffy sheet of A4 in it – the hand held it up to the eye-holes, and Mayo announced, ‘This is my latest spoem (spoof poem), I’ll read it out to you – jot it down, you can put it on that awful blog-thing that you do…’ He then adopted a penetrating ‘Victorian actor’ voice and intoned the work slowly, and with lovely diction, so that I could get it down without any mistakes…

Mountain pie, dimpled arse-magnets.
Counterpane stench mould musings…
Yes, yes, yes! No, no, no! Yes, yes, yes!
Magnet stevedore rumba corks?
Musing now on petty no-no smiles.
Obelisk soup, corrugated arse jumpers.
Counterpane flapjack chrome decisions…
No, no, no! Yes, yes, yes! No, no, no!
Jumper racecourse foppish dice?
Decisions now on petty yes-yes frowns.
Steeple snack, speckled arse toppers.
Counterpane horseradish blame ideas…
Yes, yes, yes! No, no, no! Yes, yes, yes!
Topper spyglass dithering drunks?
Ideas now on petty no-no smiles.
Outcrop loaf, pitted arse roundels.
Counterpane fettle springboard considerations…
No, no, no! Yes, yes, yes! No, no, no!
Roundel dredged plasma cheeks?
Consideration now of petty yes-yes frowns.
Tony Mayonnaise. 2020.

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...
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5 Responses to Mayonnaise in the dark…

  1. Jheron Bash says:

    Oh dear, he’s getting better, that Tony. Don’t tell him I said so!

  2. David Manley says:

    I’m trusting that Doom is similarly OK? Mind I’m thinking Veronica & Monty will have been wise to vacate Manhattan…he has the cash I imagine!

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