Et conputruit terra

Axe! Axe! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling
Adjusting the baggy trowsers just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a geezer in fire or lime.-
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the #10 Westphal that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Axe smells nice and people enjoy how you bathe in it. —Sid Caesar

This article appears in Jul 21-27, 2016.