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Mr Mustard Comes Tonight
Rig rag
Shaggy rag
Rip, rip, rip,
Wrinkle in the water
A wilder whisper
Crepuscular crème brûlée.
What is madness really?
Have I not a wordly thought?
Wordly jumble,
Words, words, words,
Coherent as a Dostoevsky mumble.
Musing wrists and elbows in a swaddle,
Up of green and purple trumpets,
Sickly technicolour cuddle.
Circadian bunny pudding.
Hullo, there it is again!
I saw it there, just there!
Did not. But so I did!
I’m not mad, I saw it there.
A rig rag shaggy rag?
No, not that.
You did not see it — no.
It’s gone now — half a moment.
Is it there? The level jelly?
Come with us, dearie.
Cuddle cuddle,
Jelly swaddle.
Sleep a day or nine.
Till it wears off, the custard killer.
Mr. Mustard comes tonight.
Copyright ©
Alice Reynolds
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