From The Topeka State Journal, December 8, 1913. By Roy K. Moulton.
Lying one day neath the auto,
Sweating and soaked with oil;
I worked at a cranky engine
And my only reward was toil.
I know not what I was saying,
As I tinkered and wrenched and tore;
I doubt not ’twas something quite savage,
It may be I even swore.
My patience gave out on that engine,
With a hammer I hit it a thump
That jarred loose some thingamadinkus
And started it up at a jump.
Before one could twinkle an eyelid,
Before there was time for surprise,
That car tore away down the highway,
And I lay glaring up at the skies.
I sprang up and madly I followed,
But soon gave it up in disgust,
For that runaway car quickly vanished
In a thick snorting cyclone of dust.
I sought it in byways and hedges,
In highways and in busy streets;
And, though I made thorough inquiries,
With never a trace did I meet.
Perhaps in some future existence,
In worlds far beyond mortal’s ken,
I shall once more make search for that auto,
But I doubt if I find it then.
Comments are closed.