Come one! Come all!
to Dr. Robinson’s roadside
circus of calamity;
see exhibits of despair,
collections of the lost,
examples of the damned;
we have as many faces
as Lon Chaney, or a clown:
they are all here, the
butchers, bakers, candlestick
makers, late of Tilbury Town.
Come one! Come all!
The show is big, the fee is slight
(just fear and worry, less
than killed the cat),
the staff is friendly and polite:
counting your tears
is Aaron Stark; the man
against the sky is Reuben Bright,
a butcher visible with burning
(Annandale is out tonight);
Luke Havergal tabulates your mourning.
First on the tour
is Uncle Ananias, that old cuss,
who made a sacrament of sin;
then watch out for
Sir Miniver, the khaki knight,
and his young squire, Turannos,
master of doing ladies in;
and over here, in quick succession,
in the Gallery of Giving Up,
is Bewick Finzer, man extraordinaire,
who made a life of chasing dreams
full of nothing but hot air;
and Richard Cory, Count of Chic,
who made into a modern art
the ancient game of hide-n-seek;
and last, our masterpiece:
Old Eben Flood, forgotten friend,
forgotten man, who drank
a health to his own end.
And there you have it, friends:
the Wax Museum of the Miserable.
Please come again.
Photo by Marketa
