WHEN the celestial dance was planned
For star and constellation,
A mighty baton took command
Of perfect orchestration.
We praised the Master of the skies
For sun and moon and planet--
The ellipse was lovely to our eyes,
So gracefully he ran it.
But when the human dancers met,
This year--about two billion--
They fumbled with their minuet,
And CRASH went their pavilion!
By right of fires that smelted ore
Which he had tended years before,
The man whose hands were on the wheel
Could trace his kinship through her steel,
Between his body warped and bent
In every bone and ligament,
And this "eight-cylinder" stream-lined,
The finest model yet designed.
He felt his lesioned pulses strum
Against the rhythm of her hum,
And found his nerves and sinews knot
With sharper spasm as she climbed
The steeper grades, so neatly timed
From storage tank to piston shot--
This creature with the cougar grace,
This man with slag upon his face.