Page 57 - Poetry-Whimsy

Song of the Baggage Smasher

With many a curve the trunks I pitch,
With many a shout and sally;
At station, siding, crossing, switch,
On mountain grade or valley.
I heave, I push, I sing, I toss,
With vigorous endeavor,
And men may smile and men grow cross,
But I sling my trunks forever,
Ever! Ever!
I bust trunks forever.

The paper trunk from country town
I balances and dandles;
I turn it once or twice around,
And pull out both the handles,
And grumble over the traveling bags,
And monstrous sample cases;
But I can smash the maker’s brags
Like plaster paris vases!
They holler, holler as I go,
But they can stop me never,
For they will learn just what I know—
A trunk won’t last forever!
Ever! Ever!

And in and out I wind about,
And here I smash a kiester;
I turn a gripsack inside out
Three times a day at least, sir.
I tug, I jerk, I sear, I sweat,
I toss the light valises,
And what’s too big to throw, you bet,
I’ll fire it round in pieces.
They murmur, murmur, everywhere,
But I will heed them never,
For women weep and strong men swear—
I’ll claw their trunks forever!
Ever! Ever!
I’ll bust trunks forever.

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