>>Mad Magazine had a parody of Wordsworth -- Once I
Wandered Lonely As a Clod. Apparently I'm not the only one
at war with the poetry of the Romantic period.
It is The Long War. Here's my salvo.
I Wandered lonely As A Crowd
I wandered lonely as a crowd Only not so big and not so loud, past smells that o'er stripmalls peak by an Exxon station's toxic leak, When all at once I saw a cloud, A deep black shroud of chemical fire; Beneath the pyre, a field of tires Burning and smoking along the road, Continuous as the flashing signs that keep a driver's path defined.
Cars stretched in a never-ending line some needing tune-ups, others to be towed. Ten thousand I saw at a glance Angry drivers beside them prance, Shaking their heads in a choleric rut, their cars stalled, out of their minds: A poet could not but be reclined in bucket seats, the windows shut: I gazed and gazed but little thought What hazards to health the whole show brought:
For oft, when in my hospital bed I lie on respirator or in sedated mood, I'm reminded by this lawyer guy of class-action suit and those to sue; And then my heart with with pleasure glut contemplates my rightful cut.
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