Henry is old, old; for Henry remembers Mr Deeds' tuba, & the Cameo, & the race in Ben Hur,—The Lost World, with sound, & The Man from Blankey's, which he did not dig, nor did he understand one caption of, bewildered Henry, while the Big Ones laughed. Now Henry is unmistakably a Big One. Fúnnee; he don't féel so. He just stuck around. The German & the Russian films into Italian & Japanese films turned, while many were prevented from making it. He wishing he could squirm again where Hoot is just ahead of rustlers, where William S forgoes some deep advantage, & moves on, where Hashknife Hartley having the matter taped the rats are flying. For the rats have moved in, mostly, and this is for real.
Added: 25 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 3 Sep 2026 10:32 AM | Viewed: 5083 times
A PoetryNotes™ eBook is available for this poem for delivery within 24 hours, and usually available within minutes during normal business hours.
ON SALE - only $29.95 19.95!
For more information...