Saturday, August 11, 2012

The Crowded Chair


First I sat on Stanton.
Then I sat on Truth.
Then I sat on Anthony.
I swear I did, in sooth.

And Stanton cried, “Lord, help me!”
As did Sojourner Truth.
But I could see that Susan B.
Was after my vermouth.

And so I grabbed my crystal glass
And rose to give a toast,
To put more distance ’tween my drink
And Susan’s sozzled ghost.

“Oh here’s to me, myself, and I,”
I said with glass held high.
But then Lucretia Mott appeared
And bit me on the thigh.

And when I sat back down again,
I straightened up my shawl,
And found there hidden on the chair
The ghost of Alice Paul.

So ever since that fateful day,
Whene’er I take a chair,
I check to see that it is free
Of spirits sitting there.

1 comment:

  1. Sounds like pure Lewis Carroll. It's cheerful to find someone who clearly loves words for their own sake.

    Those must make shapes in your mind, shapes with weight and substance, edges and planes and colors, brightness and shadow - all accompanied by an ear for absurdity.

    Very pleasing!

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