SOME soothing balm the soul requires, when one must fuss with rubber tires. I am a highly moral man; I guard my tongue the best I can; and if, perchance, I cuss a streak, remorse lambasts me for a week. A model I would gladly be, to growing youth and infancy, and ere I got a motor car, my fame for virtue traveled far. But often now I may be seen, all bathed in sweat and gasoline, and spotted o'er with rancid grease, dispensing words that break the peace. I jack my car up with my lyre, and try to patch a busted tire, and while I labor in the ditch, I'm laughed at by the idle rich, who whiz along in pomp and state, and jeer the more unlucky skate. And as I toil with wrench and crank, I keep on saying, "Blinky blank," and children toddling on their way give ear to smoky things I say, and as they leave, on learning bent, they whisper, "What a sinful gent!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRAGMENTS WRITTEN WHILE TRAVELING...A MIDWESTERN HEAT WAVE by JAMES GALVIN SPECIAL EFFECTS by JAMES GALVIN JOY (2) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALONZO CHURCHILL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HEMLOCK AND CEDAR by CARL SANDBURG ELEGY: THE GHOST WHOSE LIPS WERE WARM; FOR GEOFFREY GORER by EDITH SITWELL |