A Victory-On-The-Bus Poem Ii Poem by robert dickerson

A Victory-On-The-Bus Poem Ii



</></>Bicker, bicker, bicker. What a goosey lot.
For if you think bickering sounds bad in English
You really should hear it in Lacedemonian Greek;
And to feel the waves, black as mavrodavne,
Tinted rose-gold by the shy first rays of the sun
Beat, beat, beating against my cranium,
Restlessly, incessantly beating, beating in sixes,
Well! So, go on, ask me anything, Don't be afraid.
I will not falter. I shall recapture all,
All-all, to the very minutest detail.
Have no doubt, you will find me up to the task.
If man, I will show you the silvery beauty of Helen
That cowl, shawl, and chagrin could not conceal;
If girl, I will make to you very, very clear
Just what she lost, that wife upon the wall,
The great plume nodding gravely above her.
I will stretch that fabled plain out plain before you
Till you must brush the foam from your lapel.
Come on-there's a while yet before the transfer:
Time to spare before we're getting there.
Ask aught of those momentous weeks and days
From 'Sing me, O Muse', to the terminal thunderclap.
If only my friend Jack Edelson were here
To accompany, the cithera in his lap.

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