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The Subway Diary: 02-Jan-98

By Paul Ford

The Remaining 5,000 Verses Have Not Been Included for Space Reasons

The Remaining 5,000 Verses Have Not Been Included for Space Reasons

I am an ardent fan of poorly written, sloppily constructed poetry. I'm just finishing up the book of results from our bad poetry contest (if you contributed, look for the book this month.) Here are some of the poems I wrote for the contest:

At work, small and fragile,
Doreen picks up the water cooler
And smashes it against the wall.

F--- you all! She screams, her mouth agape,
foaming, the color of wronged butter, a banjo tongue
playing unplucked, miserable television jingles.

Doreen, I am you, as five big men
tackle and smother you,
calling security and then the police. What of your
children, mastectomy, pension? I will not know.
I am a mindless robot worker bee.

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ
BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ
BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ
BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

---

The flesh of Jesus
Sits rotting in the sunshine
Who will pick it up?

(Previously appeared in Sparks)

---

Asleep below the liquid,
Asleep below the rain,
But the highwayman came riding,
And chafed his legs.
The pain!

the fish
that eats
the cat

and i am still alone.

---

by Lucius Callius

Do you know Big Willie Murphy?
He killed seven people with axes.
Remember Blade Eddie and Max?
They only evaded their taxes.

Oh, it's hard to find a window,
When you're locked inside a cell.
When you sharpen up your sadness,
And live inside of hell.

When they cut up Tommie Dixon
We stood around and gaped
So the Warden grabbed Lou Trawler
And raped and raped and raped.

Well your wife might be a widow
When you're locked inside a cell,
When you're caught in all this badness,
And live inside of hell.

The remaining 5,000 verses have not been included for space reasons.