Poets Hitchhiking on the Highway

Of course I tried to tell him

but he cranked his head

     without an excuse.

I told him the sky chases

     the sun

And he smiled and said:

     "What's the use."

I was feeling like a demon

     again

So I said: "But the ocean chases

     the fish."

This time he laughed

     and said: "Suppose the

          strawberry were

               pushed into a mountain."

After that I knew the

     war was on—

So we fought:

He said: "The apple-cart like a

                broomstick-angel

     snaps & splinters

                             old dutch shoes."

I said: "Lightning will strike the old oak

     and free the fumes!"

He said: "Mad street with no name."

I said: "Bald killer! Bald killer! Bald killer!"

He said, getting real mad,

     "Firestoves! Gas! Couch!"

I said, only smiling,

     "I know God would turn back his head

     If I sat quietly and thought."

We ended by melting away,

     hating the air!

                                                                —Gregory Corso

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