YOUR bony head, Jazbo, O dock walloper,
Those grappling hooks, those wheelbarrow handlers,
The dome and the wings of you, ****,
The red roof and the door of you,
I know where your songs came from.
I know why God listens to your, ‘Walk All Over God’s Heaven.’
I heard you shooting craps, ‘My baby’s going to have a new dress.’
I heard you in the cinders, ‘I’m going to live anyhow until I die.’
I saw five of you with a can of beer on a summer night and I listened to the five of you
harmonizing six ways to sing, ‘Way Down Yonder in the Cornfield.’
I went away asking where I come from.
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