9211. FOR THE FAIRLANE 500 ONLY

FOR THE 

FAIRLANE 500 

ONLY

It seems every soldier in this 

old lance-corporal's army has 

shouldered their burden forever.

Now I sit beneath a tree just trying

to think  -  marbles and concussions,

mortar rounds and rounds of drink.

Where was I the day before yesterday?

Where were any of us? Is it a place

like this, that Mount Misery you

speak of? The car's up on blocks,

with two others nearby and a guard 

dog in the fence that only sleeps.

Now that may look like fence but

I mean the dog, and no offense.

The dog, you see  -  note this 

please,  -  only sleeps, and it's

within the fence, the fence that

in turn keeps these cars in

such suspense.
-
And if all things have their
reasons, then I would never 
know that either : maple syrup 
runs to the boiling sheds each March; 
the farmers in Vermont still speak 
of things in the present sense, 
though I can never know why.
 It all seems past, and we all 
seem like puppets, on 
strings of glass.