Milton's Error
The Subway? The Tube? Just to buzz around?
When did we befriend the underground?
It's a profoundly theological conundrum.
It's out with the head and up with the bum,
those ickies below and the wicked 'down there',
where critters gnash who need no hair,
where darkness and dampness and worms are king
and froggies go gulp and the birdies don't sing.
I fear old Milton himself is the cause.
Had he done the job right and followed the laws
he would have insured we'd never desire
to chill and thrill where there should be fire--
(whose purpose should not be to warm up your hands.)
I'm afraid the squinting poet commands
our nods on the general fall from grace,
but his Hell is, quite frankly, too nice a place.
|