»»»»»»»»»»] Dirge [««««««««««

by Kenneth Fearing (1902-1961)

1-2-3 was the number he played but today the number came
3-2-1;
bought his Carbide at 30 but it went to 29; had the
favorite at Bowie but the track was slow - -


O, executive type, would you like to drive a floating power,
knee action, silk-upholstered six? Wed a Holywood star?
Shoot the course in 58? Draw to the ace, king jack?

O, fellow with a will who won't take no, watch out for three
cigarettes on the same, single match; O democratic voter
born in August under Mars, beware of liquidated rails --


Dénouement to dénouement, he took a personal pride in the
certain, certain way he lived his own, private life,
but nevertheless, they shut off his gas; nevertheless,
the bank forclosed; nevertheless the landlord called;
nevertheless, the radio broke,


And twelve o'clock arrived just once too often,
just the same he wore one gray tweed suit, bought one
straw hat, drank one straight Scotch, walked one short
step, took one long look, drew one deep breath,
just one too many,


And wow he died as wow he lived,
going whop to the office and blooie home to sleep and
biff he got married and bam he had children and oof he got fired,
zowie did he live and zowie did he die,


With who the hell are you at the corner of his casket,
and where the hell are we going on the right hand silver
knob, and who the hell cares walking second from the
end with an American Beauty wreath from why the hell not.


Very much missed by the circulation staff of the New York
Evening Post; deeply, deeply mourned by the B.M.T.

Wham, Mr. Roosevelt; pow, Sears Roebuck; awk, big dipper;
bop, summer rain; bong, Mr., bong, Mr., bong, Mr., bong.

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If you want to hear me read the poem in real audio click here.