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Dirth
by Kenneth Fearing

1-2-3 was the number he played but today the number came 3-2-1;
Bought his Carbide at 30 and it went to 29; had the favorite at
Bowie but the track was slow–

O executive type, would you like to drive a floating-power, knee-
action, silk-upholstered six? Wed a Hollywook star? Shoot
the course in 58? Draw to the ace, king, jack?
O fellow with a will who won’t take no, watch out for three
cigarettes on the same, single match; O democratic voter
born in August under Mars, beware of liquidated rails–

Denouement to denouement, he took a personal pride in the cer-
tain, certain way he lived his own, private life,
But nevertheless, they shut off his gas; nevertheless, the bank fore-
closed; nevertheless, the landlord called; nevertheless, the
radio broke,

And twelve o’clock arrived just once too often,
Just the same he wore one gray tweed suit, bought one straw hat,
drank one straight Scotch, walked one short step, took one
long look, drew one deep breath,
Just one too many,

And wow he died as wow he lived,
Going whop to the office and blooie home to sleep and biff got
married and bam had children and oof got fired,
Zowie did he live and zowie did he die,

With who the hell are you at the corner of his casket, and where
the hell’re we going on the right-hand silver knob, and who
the hell cares walking second from the end with an Amer-
ican Beauty wreath from why the hell not,

Very much missed by the circulation staff of the New York Eve-
ning Post; deeply, deeply mourned by the B.M.T.
Wham, Mr. Roosevelt; pow, Sears Roebuck; awk, big dipper;
bop, summer rain;
Bong, Mr., bong, Mr., bong, Mr., bong.

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