FORESTED MISNOMER
Take the cake walk, bring it back - all
the shiny-stage stuff goes wanting. Singers
are singing, and some fat black, with swagger,
plays a trombone. All the people are loving
that Louie's sound.
-
I've got cards spread out - some old-fashioned
hand that no one can read. The 12th street locals
just stare - some little girl with ribbons, and
two old men - very tall and very thin. Let's
all keeping going, just this side of order.
-
One day after Wednesday, the calendar says,
the anarchy will break out : fresh-faced, like
piglets pink and newly running, children with
staves, warriors in tri-cornered hats. I want to
be there, when these saints go marching out.
My forested misnomer shall cover the land.
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