A SHARPSHOOTER LAD
When I first read 'A Shropshire Lad',
I wanted it, immediately, to be changed.
Houseman, I figured, had wanted nothing
more than some simple reverie, and I wanted
the valued danger - instead, as a lad - of
the running parabola of living this life. : 'from
clee to Heaven the beacon burns.' You can
make of that, any of you cankered Bedlamites,
whatever you like. I know, for myself, jumping
the backs of street-running trucks, hopping those
deadlier rides to get by, was more fun than
swooning (or swearing) at the moon when
young. Kissing my 9th street babe brought
me more solace than plain reverie. 'The shires
have seen it plain, from north and south the
sign returns.' Just like old New York to me.
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