Saturday, 14 November 2009

In Extremisly, The Mustard Slayer

I am a tad dumbfounded,
A teeny bit stunned,
A smidgen aghast,
A tiddly bit amazed..
That this jar of French mustard,
Not that one - this one,
Is nearly,
Six,
Count them:
Six days,
Past its "use by" date!
Passing its "sell by" date is dangerous enough,
But its "use by"?
No wonder I've been collapsing all over the place,
Frothing at the mouth most unseemly,
Spouting crazy and quite deranged thoughts,
To giggling,
And - I have to say - deeply unsympathetic,
Passers-by.

My behaviour makes perfect sense now:
I was poisoned!
Poisoned I tell you,
By a jar of deeply expired,
Egregiously decayed,
Gravely gone,
French mustard!

I'm totally overtly,
Ghostly toast.
Empirically scientifically,
Most in extemisly,
Death-carded by a jar of French mustard!

My vitalish man's body,
Now,
Permanently poisoned,
I haven't even written my will.
Where is my God then?
Where are my rights then?
Why is it always the good ones that die such young,
Deaths,
So suddenly,
So spectacularly
Tragically and bizarre?
I surmise it's because:
We toy,
We toy and dance on life's bendy edge,
Like a drunken garden gnome,
Tottering, wobbly on a window ledge.
Such poets as I?
Yes, such poets as I,
Yes you - I, Me!
Done in,
By a jar of morgue-friendly French mustard!

Adieu then.

You don't care do you?
And please,
Don't tell me I'm exaggerating..