| Max
Ernst The
gendarme with a sword looks down on the rubble
As a man on a bridge looks down on a river- a modern
Heraclitus; his rubble ever-constant, his rubble ever-changing.
Meanwhile, the detritus is flung everywhere-a mess. The sumo
Wrestler standing nearby leans backward, hands on hips, and cracks
His back, a slight ripping pop. It's going to be a long day.
The
Victorian ladies are distraught and flailing, as well
They might be, upon seeing a Japanese wrestler
go flying overhead, using the air as a step-stool. Two pastry
Chefs lower a fainted comrade from the window, unheeding
As the wrestler hurdles over their backs. He is like mercury.
He flies by his heels. His temperature is rising. His eyes are full
of fire.
Dr.
Watson searches the vacant lot for clues, sullenly wondering if
Holmes has put him out to pasture. It is a fine day, at any rate,
and
Some keepers from the local asylum are digging a community
Garden. Their white coats and quaint kepis shine in the sun. A good
thing
To do with this bleak part of Bristol. In the foreground, the belted
wrestler
Is back. He leans into the proceedings, glaring a jungle.
Calamity Speaks to the People
A gray fedora and linen suit
Have replaced her red hat
And dungarees. Leaning over
The starstruck bunting
Hung over the caboose, Calamity
Waves to the crowd
At this pause on her wild,
Whistlestop tour. The tracks
Are thronged with the
Amazed citizenry, who
Listen wide-as
Her pipsy voice shatters
The encroaching afternoon:
My
fellow Americans!
Cherry pie, ice cream,
Grandmother and victory!
Victory cabbage, victory
Blankets, and all for our
Boys over there! Log
Cabin, bootstraps, and
My opponent, Mr.
Henry J. Clodstetter,
Of the Monkeyshines'
Party for Progress,
Dares not show his face
For fear of our power!
Beltway Outsider! Freedom,
Model Ts, and as many
Chickens as the fridge
Will fit! We will win!
We will carry the day!
I cannot lie, for whatever
I say, goes!
With
that, the train
Gives a pull and a throb,
Whistle screaming, Calamity
Slides away to the tune
Of a thousand bravos
And wolf-whistles. Meanwhile,
Mr. Henry J. Clodstetter,
Tied to the tracks
With a thick-knotted rope,
Awaits the oncoming train. |
