Friday, September 10, 2010

She was as safe as the bridge over the Mississippi at Burlington. (Friday's Sunday's Poem/Hot Actress 62)

Caboose Thoughts
by Carl Sandburg

It's going to come out all right—do you know?
The sun, the birds, the grass—they know.
They get along—and we’ll get along.

Some days will be rainy and you will sit waiting
And the letter you wait for won’t come,
And I will sit watching the sky tear off gray and gray
And the letter I wait for won’t come.

There will be ac-ci-dents.
I know ac-ci-dents are coming.
Smash-ups, signals wrong, washouts, trestles rotten,
Red and yellow ac-ci-dents.
But somehow and somewhere the end of the run
The train gets put together again
And the caboose and the green tail lights
Fade down the right of way like a new white hope.

I never heard a mockingbird in Kentucky
Spilling its heart in the morning.

I never saw the snow on Chimborazo.
It’s a high white Mexican hat, I hear.

I never had supper with Abe Lincoln.
Nor a dish of soup with Jim Hill.

But I’ve been around.
I know some of the boys here who can go a little.
I know girls good for a burst of speed any time.

I heard Williams and Walker
Before Walker died in the bughouse.

I knew a mandolin player
Working in a barber shop in an Indiana town,
And he thought he had a million dollars.

I knew a hotel girl in Des Moines.
She had eyes; I saw her and said to myself
The sun rises and the sun sets in her eyes.
I was her steady and her heart went pit-a-pat.
We took away the money for a prize waltz at a
Brotherhood dance.
She had eyes; she was safe as the bridge over the
Mississippi at Burlington; I married her.

Last summer we took the cushions going west.
Pike’s Peak is a big old stone, believe me.
It’s fastened down; something you can count on.

It’s going to come out all right—do you know?
The sun, the birds, the grass—they know.
They get along—and we’ll get along.
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About The Poem: Did you know I can spell Mississippi backwards? I can say the alphabet backwards, too. I'm a man of many talents, and one of them is deciding to read a poem based on the title, and then liking it. I not afraid to judge a book by its cover, either.


About the Hot Actress: I asked Sweetie to name someone, and she named "Connie Britton." When I asked why, Sweetie said "She's on Friday Night Lights," which should disqualify her, but then went on to add "When they send out the Emmy gowns, they send them out in sizes 1 and 2 and she said she can't fit into that size." So she's striking a blow for size-ism. Or something.

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