miss america got a gun, a thirty-eight special, and she knows how to use it.
miss america shot out the tires on the burglar’s car. she held on to her walker
and pulled out her pistol.
she is old now. when she was young and miss america,
her image was painted on the nose of a flying fortress.
she leaned on her walker, shot out the tires and told the crook,
one step closer and you’re a dead man.
she is miss america.
her image was painted on the nose of a flying fortress.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
jesus loves me, this i know,
for my teevee tells me so.
he is always watching me,
his older brother, suave and free.
jesus loves me, every day,
no matter what i do or say.
i can pull the wings off flies
or spread the pretty schoolgirl’s thighs.
jesus, love me, pretty please,
it’s not fair for you to tease
your older brother in this way—
be a sport; what do you say?
jesus, don’t you love me so?
if you don’t, where can i go
to flee the angel i’ve become
and hades’ low, incessant hum?
jesus, please, don’t leave me now.
i’ll swear to any kind of vow
to keep you in my rightful place,
gazing on your holy face.
damn it, jesus, turn around!
don’t turn your back—you’re all i’ve found
who would forgive me what i do—
jesus loved me—this i knew.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“On Monday morning, as an offset to our day’s sport, we were all set to work ‘tarring down’ the rigging. Some got girt-lines up for riding down the stays and back-stays, and others tarred the shrouds, lifts, etc., laying out on the yards, and coming down the rigging. We overhauled our bags and took out our old tarry trowsers and frocks, which we had used when we tarred down before, and were all at work in the rigging by sunrise. After breakfast, we had the satisfaction of seeing the Italian ship’s boat go ashore, filled with men, gaily dressed, as on the day before, and singing their barcarollas. The Easter holydays are kept up on shore during three days; and being a Catholic vessel, the crew had the advantage of them. For two successive days, while perched up in the rigging, covered with tar and engaged in our disagreeable work, we saw these fellows going ashore in the morning, and coming off again at night, in high spirits. So much for being Protestants. There’s no danger of Catholicism’s spreading in New England; Yankees can’t afford the time to be Catholics. American shipmasters get nearly three weeks more labor out of their crews, in the course of a year, than the masters of vessels from Catholic countries. Yankees don’t keep Christmas, and ship-masters at sea never know when Thanksgiving comes, so Jack has no festival at all.” – Richard Henry Dana, Two Years Before the Mast