September 2020 – Hacked: How media and society influence my life and feelings


    By Kenneth Fearing (Poems 1935)

1-2-3 was the number he played but today the number

            came 3-2-1;

   bought his Carbide at 30 and it went to 29; had the

            favorite at Bowie but the track was slow—

O, executive type, would you like to drive a floating

            power, knee-action, silk-upholstered six? Wed

            a Hollywood star? Shoot the course in 58?

            Draw to the ace, king, jack?

   O, fellow with a will who won’t take no, watch out for

            three cigarettes on the same, single match; O,

            democratic voter born in August under Mars,

            beware of liquidated rails—

Denouement to denouement, he took a personal pride

            in the certain, certain way he lived his own,

            private life,

but nevertheless, they shut off his gas; nevertheless,

            the bank foreclosed; nevertheless, the landlord

            called; nevertheless, the radio broke,

And twelve o’clock arrived just once too often,

   just the same he wore one grey tweed suit, bought

            one straw hat, drank one straight Scotch,

            walked one short step, took one long look,

            drew one deep breath,

   just one too many,

And wow he died as wow he lived,

   going whop to the office and blooie home to sleep

            and biff got married and bam had children and

            off got fired,

   zowie did he live and zowie did he die,

With who the hell are you at the corner of his casket,

             and where the hell we going on the right-hand

            silver knob, and who the hell cares walking

            second from the end with an American Beauty

            wreath from why the hell not,

Very much missed by the circulation staff of the New

            York Evening Post; deeply, deeply mourned by

            the B.M.T.,

Wham, Mr. Roosevelt; pow, Sear Roebuck; awk, big

            dipper; bop, summer rain;

   Bong, Mr., bong, Mr., bong, Mr., bong.


recited by Gene Marckx

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