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 |  entering Wonderland again |
| Study the poem 'Haddock's Eyes' or is it The Aged, Aged Man' or perhaps it was actually 'Ways and Means' or ah yes! 'A-Sitting on a Gate'! Whatever the case, write your own stanza in the same style. (minimum three stanzas). The other day, meandering-- at least, so I recall, I met a rather handsome man a-propping up a wall. “Who are you, handsome man,” I said, “Well met, and how are you?” I didn't want to know, of course, but didn't mind the view. He said, “I look for bumblebees that dance upon the air, and follow them from flower to hive and take the honey there, and bottle it in pints and quarts to sell upon the street, oh will you buy, oh maiden fair, some honey—clover sweet?” But I was thinking of his eyelids framed with lashes long, and wondering why my mascara wasn't near as strong. So, having no reply to give to what the man had said, I cried, “Please tell me what you do?” and felt like an airhead. His deep, deep voice took up the tale: “I know a vacant spot where I may cultivate tin cans --as in a garden plot. And thence I gather them to make an electronic fense-- yet when I sold it, I earned only fifty-seven cents.” But I was thinking of his chest and why it was so trim, and where he exercised himself to remain so slim-- I shook my head to drain my thoughts like water from a sieve, “Come, tell me what you do,” I said, “And how is it you live?” He said, “I hunt for acorn tops along the city streets, and work all night to make them into pairs of baseball cleats, and these I do not try to sell for copper or for gold-- just give me paper money, please, just five a pair, and sold. “I sometimes dig for chocolate cakes or set out snares for gnomes, I sometimes search on putting greens for tiny, golf ball homes, and that is how,” he winked at me, “I live here on the street. But you, my dearest maiden fair, look good enough to eat.” I heard him then, for at his words my mouth grew very dry because I couldn't tell if I should thank him or should fly. But from my purse I pulled a ten and my pepper spray, and thanked him kindly for his words and wished him a good day. And now, if e'er by chance I find a tangle in my hair, or run into an open door and bruise my nose and swear, Or if I with my naked feet find Legos in the hall, I laugh, and think of that fine day when I met him, on my way whose hair was blonde, whose eyes were gray, whose face could lead a nun astray, whose voice enthralled me, straightaway with all those muscles on display who drew me in, like child's play who changed and filled me with dismay and said things I wished him to unsay alone in that dark alleyway that time I met him, (what a day) a-propping up the wall. line count: 82 |
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