PAWLING

Many a ghost in Pawling thinks he is the revenant
Of former governor Thomas E. Dewey.
You'll see them crowding the streets after snowstorms
Each with a shovel and a disciplined mustache,
Digging out cars, clearing sidewalks, soliciting votes.
At high school games Pawlonians are used
To massed Thomas E. Deweys taking the field
To perform at half-time. In time, they grow weary
Shunning the light, their mustaches gone ragged.

SCENES FROM THE RETREAT

I

The camp followers were with us still
But oddly changed. The sutlers had horns
And hoofs and limp braided mustaches
Tied with small bright bits of string.
They remained reassuringly surly
And did not allow credit. Our clothes
Were mostly ragged but washerwomen
Competed for our  business; tired feys
With black eyes and tattered wings
That could lift them a few inches
Above the rocks and hardpacked snow.


II

All that winter Death lay sick.
We had no heart to leave him behind
So he rode in a cart, half-conscious,
Groaning now and then.
When we had to abandon the carts
His attendants – bats and voles
And bears who wore clothes and expected
To pass as men – heaped blankets on him
And carried him in a wicker basket.

YES WHY?

If you don't want to be written, poem,
Why keep buzzing about my head?
I am not without resources, poem;
Go away or settle here long enough
That I can see you. Work with me
Lest I make you into a limerick
Or summon up the mustached ghost
Of former Governor Thomas E. Dewey
See? The very mention of his name
Has left you frozen in mid-air.

PREPARING FOR THE REMATCH

In Pawling, New York, people accept
That the ghost of Thomas E. Dewey
Will sometimes, after a heavy snow,
Shovel their walks. His mustache
Hasn't lost a bristle. He remains sure
That the next time it is 1948
He'll beat Truman in a walk.