We got talking and, as I suspected, he had also created the famous mythical creature which was displayed for a few years on a gate off the main road from Bishopsteignton coming into Teignmouth. I used to call it the Dodo but NME told me that he named it the ‘Parrat’ because it had the head of a parrot and the body of a rat.
Sadly the Parrat is no more. It has been overpainted by an equally exquisite but very different piece of work – a surreal vision of a woman swimming underwater. That got me thinking about the transitory nature of street art, maybe a metaphor for life, and Monty Python. The result was ‘Elegy to a Parrat’.
Elegy to a Parrat
The Parrat is dead –
(Stress on the ‘rat’) –
Long live the Parrat.
The Parrat was no dodo, oh no no.
It was a psittacine rodent
that lived for a moment
and felt no senescence
just pure evanescence of art on the go.
The Parrat is deceased,
or at least in my dreams
it seems that it’s late,
long gone from that gate
that once was its home.
The Parrat has been bubbled –
(that’s the trouble with street art).
It’s been layered in blue,
so many coats you cannot see through
to its acrylicised grave millennia below.
The Parrat has expired,
it’s retired, no more, definitely ex,
replaced by a mermaid that’s oozing with sex
cruising sublimely cerulean depths.
She’s cool, unknowing what picture comes next.
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