Dirty Story
The laughter at the bar rumbles rich,
Masculine as steak. More drink is served. Tankards clang and tumblers ring; Dull memories are cuffed and searched, Together heads are bent, intent, and words From someone wind the spring of mirth again: Heard the one about the blonde with worms? Listen. She was sitting on a gate. . . .
And so a verbal art is carried on, Simple as tales of bunnies, elves and moles, With golfers, vicars, spinsters and cute dolls, Rabbis and rissoles, condoms and commodes. Each fable, rhymed or plain vernacular job Insists upon the funniness of lust,
Betrayal, shame, the belly-shaking joke Of pain and innocence and human love. Again the laughter thickens, swirls like smoke: 'Oh, very good!' they gasp: 'Oh Gawd! Oh my!. They laugh till they begin, almost, to cry.
VERNON scANNELL
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