with a Wrought-up Mind
I wandered with a wrought-up mind,
Thinking of some troubled souls,
And suddenly what did I find
But a file of federal poles,
Standing straight and painted well,
They struck me as the queue for hell.
Though crisp as any chorus line
That ever graced the Broadway stage,
They surely were no anodyne
For my slowly building rage.
Their perfect order spoke to me
Of anything but comity.
"Against attack they'll contravene,"
Is how we have the people schooled,
But they form a line between
The rulers and the meekly ruled:
The latter who are sent to fight
And those who shirk with all their might.
Now often when at home I lie
In passive or in thoughtful mood,
They show up in my inward eye,
And stir me in my solitude.
Then I join those troubled souls
And curse the lines of federal poles.
David Martin, with apologies to William Wordsworth.