The attendant at the station said
My tires MIGHT last a year,
By checking pressure constantly,
By switching front and rear;
By slowing down for curves and such,
By having wheels aligned,
By watching for the nails and glass
That tires are sure to find;
By keeping down to thirty-five,
By no jack-rabbit starts,
By stopping oh-so-gradually
(One of the finer arts).
If following rules like this is all
That will our tires preserve,
I think we’d best get set to walk,
And Back-to-Na ture swerve.
Cars will be so scarce we’ll hear
(If you hate puns you’ll curse)
Theory of the earth-bound Zombie lad:
“MY KINGDOM FOR A HEARSE!”
• • • • • • • • •
When I see the fun. that driving is,
I’m bitter with remorse–
I should’ve foreseen this thing and made
A payment on a horse!
• • • • • • • • •
Driving’s gonna be SUCH fun!
Too little and late, of course,
I’ll take up Richard’s battle cry:
“MY KINGDOM FOR A HORSE!
I’m not unpatriotic, and
It’s not my place to squawk–
But I think I’ll hunt a Junk-man up,
And learn, again, to WALK!
• • • • • • • • •
Now all. these things. may necessary be–
(But walking- sounds S0 SIMPLE now to me!
by Ray Romine Sunday, October 11, 1942
