Riding to the Great Northern Wilderness
we sang about self-correction in the club car,
dreamed up new crimes to put in our autobiographies

Where Are You Going With That Wrench

A switch went and is going to take up the trip.
Jiggle the handle, engineers! Getting out of the train
to fix it yourselves? Be serious! We have

He bestrode each gleaming chopper on the floor;
A kind old man, T-shirted, gave advice.
He wanted a bike his friends could not ignore

 They want one of every kind and they
can't help it, it's an addiction,
the house full of novelty radios,

The logs of wool jersey plastered with labels 
Lay in the lint and litter, columns in a heap 
Like a Doric temple left at the shipping dock, 

Here bricks are so rare they are like agates
We wonder who would carry them so far
Here I feel good because I have nothing
I am thinking about

Well, Ford, people like us, we
Don't have to worry. We have the river
Coming up just here. Dancing came