Dream On (weirdness alert)

Another dream the night before last
Has stuck in my head, like a pain in the arse.



An Indian man in a tent coloured red
Likened me and my ilk to - wait for it - caramel, he said.

Caramel! say what? my dream self replied
We get everywhere, make a sticky sweet mess, the red tent man cried.

Now I don't know what to make of it, I wonder do you
I've always been quite partial to caramel, some of my best friends are too.

If it's sexual I'll need Sigmund to come back from the grave
To find the proof in that pudding the red tent man made.

In the meantime I'm left pondering the pain in my arse
Thinking perhaps it's my diet given rise to this farce.

Sugar is shit, Al Pacino once said
Maybe Al is my man in the red tent instead.

We'll never know, and I doubt ever care
Unless I write a poem about it for the whole world to share.

Now I've gone and done it, like Coleridge and his albatross
Forever more you'll be stuck with caramel, red tents, Al and my arse.