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Overloading the Machine
Fever
the sun sets to the top
of the neighboring Motophoto
and good upper deck people
rejoice
a train whistle in my sink
grins with pride but no teeth
happy like a frat boy
with a blond and a dalmation
the time comes to check the swing
that grin won't last forever
pick up the whistle it's time to sing
a blues in the key of clever.
The true Southern watermelon is a boon apart, and not to be mentioned with
commoner things. It is chief of the world's luxuries, king by the grace of God
over all the fruits of the earth. When one has tasted it, he knows what the
angels eat. It was not a Southern watermelon that Eve took; we know it because
she repented.
-- Mark Twain, "Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar"
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