-Untitled poem / 1966-

From the Swain School archives:

There will be a hayride at Meredith’s family farm

in Padanaram, Massachusetts.

Shortly after arrival, art students from New Bedford

will be rollicking in the hay as the wagon teeters onward

like a glorious inebriation.  

Protest folk-music will be sung to accompany a stressed,

acoustic guitar, as the hay wagon’s horse will have the scent of its ass;

the whole horse–– from its withers to its droppings.

But its tail is as silky as Wendell Willkie, fanning its scent

into the nostrils of those strewn about the wagon, where

two-by-two, they'll have burrowed deeply into the hay,

rustling around under there like horny ferrets.

A few nights before Meredith’s hayride jamboree,

Madeline, of Jesus-Mary Academy, a great schoolgirl incubator,

and William (this poem-writer)–– will have danced cheek-to-cheek

at Madeline's Senior Prom.

When in southeastern New England, visit the seminal

"Historic Delights Exhibition" at the winding, tree-

lined, Wampanoag Trail.

When visiting scenic Padanaram, be sure to explore
the legendary "Historic Delights Exhibition" at Meredith’s family farm.

Huge segments of this poem are undeniable elements of truth.

Other segments are determined to be presented as truth enough.