I expected nice pastels, the mundane:
But I walked into a brown and yellow
Confusion of a potter gone insane:
What mind devised this decor fiasco?
He staggered in to the terrible room
In red trousers and a pair of brown shoes,
Shouting: “Monochromes plus taste equals doom.
I do my best work when I’m on the booze.”
But the council, I said, with civic fear:
If they see this they’ll surely cause a stink?
“We make our own rules,” he said with a leer,
“Our Sorbent hangs from lurid bits of pink.”
I staggered away, my copy unfiled,
Toilet as torture: the worst had been tiled.