Thomas Nashe in leg irons |
A Litany for the Wheeling Year
with apologies to Thomas Nashe
Again a grim old year is turning.
Again the fires of war are burning.
Again the poor cough up their lives.
Again rich men adorn their wives.
The moon’s balsamic, a sleepy eye.
We stare drunkenly up and sigh.
Who’ll have mercy on us?
Not the CEO of Goldman.
Not the gangsters in the Forum.
Not the grinning, bailed-out bankers.
Not the pundits hyping rancor.
The moon looks inward toward midnight.
We stare drunkenly up and sigh.
Who’ll be honest with us?
Look at how our God-dreams kill us.
Look at how our wills are will-less.
Look at how we’ve too much fondness
For the blood-dimmed tide that haunts us.
The moon has sailed off down the sky.
We switch the TV on and sigh.
Who’ll help us escape us?
Now the Times Square angel’s falling.
Now the crowds below are squalling.
Drums are throbbing, horns are braying.
Sometimes going feels like staying.
Two … One … A blast of white.
We stare into the heart of light.
Another year’s upon us.
ARE WE TWINS? or<br />Blood-Brother's?<br /><br />I bought me a BRAND KNEW 1966 Chevy<br />Belle Aire sex cylinder 3hree speed<br /><br />took out the back seat cut through to the trunk<br />built a 4' x' 8' plywood platform<br /> & as soon as I finished getting my "education" at U of Md<br /> June of 67 'split for a drive
My Rambler seats folded back flat too! I traded the car in for a '65 Chevy Malibu before I ever got to use them creatively. The Chevy gave rise to a number of awkward situations in which I found myself pining for those Rambler seats….
my best friend<br />Freddie Schwartz had a Rambler Rebel<br /><br />like a 1958<br /><br />push-button trans shifter..<br /><br />the front seats' back folded back to make an almost queen-sized bed.<br /><br />he covered the seats with clear plastic<br />as<br />we-all used to borrow it to go with<br /><br />"what's her name"<br />to the Queenstown Drive-In over on Ager Road!<br
Hah! A Nash Rambler was my first beater. (I had three.) Boxy, oatmeal-colored, three on the tree, red vinyl seats stolen (maybe) from the neighborhood Chuckwagon diner, an engine just slightly north of a Volkswagen's. I sometimes wonder where if finally came to rest!
I must let you know,<br />This is one <br /><br />Helluva Nashe Rambler, Joe!