Parked next to Trixie the Poetry Car, which is, well, a car named Trixie dedicated to, uh, poetry. Trixie's covered with single-word magnets and a sign encouraging passers-by to create a poem.
It ain't Walt Whitman, but I was in a rush.
Speaking of the Father of American Poetry, here's a little ditty I actually wrote about him:
My Date with Walt Whitman
I thought that he’d be hot to trot
For all his sexy talk,
But then he grabbed me by the hand
And took me for a walk:
Past shipyards, houses, parks and squares,
An all-night pilgrimage,
“I won’t get laid tonight,” I thought
As we crossed the Brooklyn Bridge -
‘Cuz Walt talked and talked and talked and talked
Of his Utopia
And everyone he’s ever met;
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
I know that he’s some famous guy,
So I didn’t interrupt,
But all night long all I can think
Is can’t this man shut up?
| | | ma