I've been celebrating the anniversary of the War of 1812. When was it again?
The Foe's Haughty Host In Dread Silence Reposes
It's not that having illustrious ancestors
Turns you into a drunk. It just gives you that push.
Illustrious drunken ancestors, now that,
That'll do it. Lost, genius, dead young.
Our anthem is a song beloved of none
But delusional divas, clutching
Their way up the staff to touch free.
The tune, a gentlemen's club drinking song.
In its slumping waltz you can see
The robust arm of a tavern slut
Slinging a mug, swabbing a counter,
Milking somebody's trousers.
The words, a back-of-the-envelope scribble,
A bit and a piece from here and before,
The fruits of your inspiration
A painfully drawn out interrogation:
Can you see? Can you see?
Of course you'd never call it poetry,
But it made you feel like somebody,
Thinking that's where you came from.
A name like that, to you it's worth
Any number of beautiful, beautiful shirts.
Photo: Still from the version of Gatsby coming out this year.
3 comments:
BIG LIKE!
Lotsa heat and steam
Oh yeah, I can see. All you have to do is turn a phrase like "slumping waltz." I get the whole panorama. Wish you'd been in that fort so we could hear some decent words being shrieked at us. Even a flagpole pun would grease my patriotism.
...Wow, that reads as really ambiguous. (Was I drunk? Don't remember...) What I really meant was that I love the poem & wish Maria had written our national anthem instead of...that guy.
Post a Comment