THE auto, as a grim destroyer, is difficult to beat. Just yesterday I killed a lawyer, while scorching up the street. When first I got my car I uttered a vow that I'd go slow. "This speeding mania," I muttered, "is what brings death and woe." But I got going fast and faster, like many another scout; and now there's always a disaster, whenever I go out. When home I come from some brief journey, my wife asks, "Who was slain?" I say, "Three clerks and an attorney lay dead upon the plain." I go kerwhooping every morning, o'er valley, weald and wold, all rules and regulations scorning, I knock the records cold. A cloud of dust, a roar and rattle, and I'm beyond your ken, as deadly as a modern battle, a menace to all men. The rural cops would like to pinch me, but can't get close enough; some day a bunch of men will lynch me, and that will be the stuff. And while for such a stunt they hanker, I'm scorching, far and near; today I crumpled up a banker, and maimed an auctioneer. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO ROSAMONDE: A BALADE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER TO SHAKESPEARE by DAVID HARTLEY COLERIDGE WISHES TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS by RICHARD CRASHAW SWITZERLAND AND ITALY by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES ON A BUST OF DANTE by THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS THE TOKEN by FRANK TEMPLETON PRINCE |