Dirge
By Kenneth Fearing (Poems 1935)
1-2-3 was the number he played but today the number
came 3-2-1;
bought his Carbide at 30 and 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 Hollywood 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—
Denouement to denouement, 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 foreclosed; nevertheless, the landlord
called; nevertheless, the radio broke,
And twelve o’clock arrived just once too often,
just the same he wore one grey 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 got married and bam had children and
off 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 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, Sear Roebuck; awk, big
dipper; bop, summer rain;
Bong, Mr., bong, Mr., bong, Mr., bong.
Dirge
recited by Gene Marckx