A Verbal Fig Leaf · Track 34 · middle
Dingwallace
Dingwallace (1950s) — Nonsense that just sounds right — the 17th century's move, run once more. VOLUME: IV. THE LOCKER ROOM, 1900–1999. THE DODGE THIS ERA: The dodge stops being clever. Nobody is hiding from God or the parlour now — they're avoiding MIXED COMPANY, and the wit drains out. These are funny the way a nudge is funny. That's the point: the invention is going, and this volume should feel a bit dumber than the last on purpose. Sing the AVOIDANCE, never the anatomy.
No audio yet — generation pending.
Lyrics
Saturday morning, the fifty-three Bel Air Is up on the blocks while he’s wiping his hands. Evelyn’s pegging the wash on the wire, So Arthur is watching his mouth where he stands. He’s telling a story about the transmission, A slip of the jack and a terrible scare. He points to the grease on his coverall trousers, And says it was lucky it missed him right there. He calls it a Dingwallace. It doesn't mean a thing, it just sounds right. Two clumsy syllables welded together To keep the front driveway polite. No Latin, no poetry, no ancient disguise, Just a goofy old noise and a roll of the eyes. The Dingwallace. The jaw locks up tight on the dangerous vowel, The body just knows it before the mind can. He catches the shape of it right in the throat, To spare the good grace of the lady at hand. So he makes it a widget, a piece of the engine, A sensitive lever that hangs on a hinge. He says he's just glad that he jumped when he did, And tosses a nine-sixteenths wrench in the bin. His grandfather would have invented a riddle, A beautiful title of silver and oak. But Arthur just needs something dumb in a hurry, To cover the gap and deliver the joke. It’s heavy, it’s rubber, a clown in the act, A nudge in the ribs where the elegance cracked. He calls it a Dingwallace. It doesn't mean a thing, it just sounds right. Two clumsy syllables welded together To keep the front driveway polite. No Latin, no poetry, no ancient disguise, Just a goofy old noise and a roll of the eyes. The Dingwallace. Evelyn smiles and she carries the basket. Arthur looks down at the oil on his shoe. It’s not very clever, but what can you do When you run out of words, And the... Well.