Reynolds & Midway 61

Reynolds & I went walking once

over a hill & field to chance

  upon an ancient tree

so old & broad we couldn't hug,

and there we took a jolly tug

  of tasty Wild-Eye.

We didn't wipe upon a sleeve

  to dry the tacky top,

nor say a single by-your-leave

  but tippd the bottle up.

    The wind blew; our skin thro'

      was bumpd & bitter cold.

    We sippd some, & quipt some,

      like lambs slipt from the fold.

While far away the hills were green,

the trees were few & far between,

  the ground was hard & white;

and in that wide & stony field

long brown & yellow locks reveald

  two young men in plain sight.

And so he put the bottle back

  inside his padded jacket,

and we walked on. My teeth a' clack,

  each fist stufft in its pocket,

    I yelld then, "We're dead men,

      this fuckin' wind will freeze us!"

    But Reynolds laughd, his cheek chaffd,

      "Then say a prayer to Jesus!"

We made it to the winterd wood

wherein the slender birch trees stood

  whose bark was ashen, flaked;

out of the wind we stoppd again,

and, like a twain of tender men

  in whom scant conscience waked,

we opend up the Wild-Eye

  and took a second swallow,

and squinted off into the sky,

  assured a third wld follow.

    The birds yelld, for they held

      in there the honord claim.

    The sun flew; and we, too,

      returnd from whence we came.

7.29.15