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nUkiEmOLe poetRy of Others #15/ 07 fEb 2020 Eve of St. Agony or The Middleclass Was Sitting on Its Fat, by Kenneth Patchen

nUkiEmOLe poetRy of Others #15/ 07 fEb 2020

Eve of St. Agony or The Middleclass Was Sitting on Its Fat, by Kenneth Patchen



Eve of St. Agony or The Middleclass Was Sitting on Its Fat


Man-dirt and stomachs that the sea unloads; rockets

of quick lice crawling inland, planting their damn flags,  

putting their malethings in any hole that will stand still,

yapping bloody murder while they slice off each other’s heads,  

spewing themselves around, priesting, whoring, lording  

it over little guys, messing their pants, writing gush-notes  

to their grandmas, wanting somebody to do something pronto,  

wanting the good thing right now and the bad stuff for the other boy.

Gullet, praise God for the gut with the patented zipper;  

sing loud for the lads who sell ice boxes on the burning deck.  

Dear reader, gentle reader, dainty little reader, this is

the way we go round the milktrucks and seamusic, Sike’s trap and Meg’s rib,

the wobbly sparrow with two strikes on the bible, behave  

Alfred, your pokus is out; I used to collect old ladies,  

pickling them in brine and painting mustaches on their bellies,  

later I went in for stripteasing before Save Democracy Clubs;  

when the joint was raided we were all caught with our pants down.

But I will say this: I like butter on both sides of my bread  

and my sister can rape a Hun any time she’s a mind to,

or the Yellow Peril for that matter; Hector, your papa’s in the lobby.

The old days were different; the ball scores meant something then,

two pill in the side pocket and two bits says so; he got up slow see,

shook the water out of his hair, wam, tell me that ain’t a sweet left hand;

I told her what to do and we did it, Jesus I said, is your name McCoy?

Maybe it was the beer or because she was only sixteen but I got hoarse

just thinking about her; married a john who travels in cotton underwear.

Now you take today; I don’t want it. Wessex, who was that with I saw you lady?

Tony gave all his dough to the church; Lizzie believed in feeding her own face;

and that’s why you’ll never meet a worm who isn’t an antichrist, my friend,

I mean when you get down to a brass tack you’ll find some sucker sitting on it.

Whereas. Muckle’s whip and Jessie’s rod, boyo, it sure looks black

in the gut of this particular whale. Hilda, is that a .38 in your handbag?


         Ghosts in packs like dogs grinning at ghosts  

         Pocketless thieves in a city that never sleeps

         Chains clank, warders curse, this world is stark mad


Hey! Fatty, don’t look now but that’s a Revolution breathing down your neck.


by Kenneth Patchen, “Eve of St. Agony or The Middleclass Was Sitting on Its Fat”

from Collected Poems. Copyright 1939 by Kenneth Patchen. Reprinted with the

permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation.


Source: Selected Poems (New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1957)

Bio-sketch (2-27-16)…

I started into believing that I would be able to show my data and my photogRapHics in 1996. By 1998 I was learning computers would gain ascendant methods thru technics of programming for a future connected to data and information. That was nuclear-Molecular finding(s) to share and my personal-Activism w first account specifics and engendering(s).

As cameras went 'digital-Tech' I fond that editing was also to follow in 2004. Then, in 2005 my first digital camera had replaced usage(s) of s.l.r. 35 mm's. I have no mercy nor pity for the thieves who have stolen my hard werk, as anxiety of what I allowed was mid-stReam--anyway! Those asshole-Pukes have cost me $1,000's on a fixed income and I remain single, sole-Survivor of two-Families w.o. offspring!

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