Written by
Katha Pollitt |
Coffee and cigarettes in a clean cafe,
forsythia lit like a damp match against
a thundery sky drunk on its own ozone,
the laundry cool and crisp and folded away
again in the lavender closet-too late to find
comfort enough in such small daily moments
of beauty, renewal, calm, too late to imagine
people would rather be happy than suffering
and inflicting suffering.
We're near the end,
but O before the end, as the sparrows wing
each night to their secret nests in the elm's green dome
O let the last bus bring
love to lover, let the starveling
dog turn the corner and lope suddenly
miraculously, down its own street, home.
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Written by
Badger Clark |
Wrangle up your mouth-harps, drag your banjo out,
Tune your old guitarra till she twangs right stout,
For the snow is on the mountains and the wind is on the plain,
But we'll cut the chimney's moanin' with a livelier refrain.
_Shinin' 'dobe fireplace, shadows on the wall--_
_(See old Shorty's friv'lous toes a-twitchin' at the call:)_
_It's the best grand high that there is within the law_
_When seven jolly punchers tackle "Turkey in the Straw."_
Freezy was the day's ride, lengthy was the trail,
Ev'ry steer was haughty with a high arched tail,
But we held 'em and we shoved 'em, for our longin' hearts were tried
By a yearnin' for tobacker and our dear fireside.
_Swing 'er into stop-time, don't you let 'er droop!_
_(You're about as tuneful as a coyote with the croup!)_
_Ay, the cold wind bit when we drifted down the draw,_
_But we drifted on to comfort and to "Turkey in the Straw."_
Snarlin' when the rain whipped, cussin' at the ford--
Ev'ry mile of twenty was a long discord,
But the night is brimmin' music and its glory is complete
When the eye is razzle-dazzled by the flip o' Shorty's feet!
_Snappy for the dance, now, fill she up and shoots!_
_(Don't he beat the devil's wife for jiggin' in 'is boots?)_
_Shorty got throwed high and we laughed till he was raw,_
_But tonight he's done forgot it prancin' "Turkey in the Straw."_
Rainy dark or firelight, bacon rind or pie,
Livin' is a luxury that don't come high;
Oh, be happy and onruly while our years and luck allow,
For we all must die or marry less than forty years from now!
_Lively on the last turn! lope 'er to the death!_
_(Reddy's soul is willin' but he's gettin' short o' breath.)_
_Ay, the storm wind sings and old trouble sucks his paw_
_When we have an hour of firelight set to "Turkey in the Straw!"_
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