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You can read more original fiction from Emily
Chesley in the Meanderings
of the Emily Chesley Reading Circle<
Other poetry
by Emily
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Lars of the Bar Car
The train was replete with their large sweaty feet, men
of the world with a schedule to meet
Gents from all over the map, with skin black, brown and pink
Most were quite nice, and at some I looked twice, God knows that men are
a most pleasant vice
So I went to my favourite carriage to buy them a drink
The liquor was flowing, my cleavage was showing, the bar
car was crowded, the men were all glowing
With visions of sharing my stateroom, I'm quite pleased to boast
Drinking my beer, I was filled with good cheer, but not enough eyes were
yet glued to my rear
So I climbed on a table and lifted my mug for a toast
So up with the Irish and vive les Français
Bow to the Balkans, embrace the Malays
Let's have a round of applause for those splendid Fijians
I'm keen on the Dutch and those fine Portugese
I've space in my heart for a billion Chinese
But all I can say about Norway is, "Damn the Norwegians!"
My words pricked their ears, and their eyes filled with
leers, the bar car was filled with a chorus of "Cheers!"
With glee, I recalled I wore nought but a thong underneath
But then I saw stars when I laid eyes on Lars, purveyor of potables, tender
of bars
With blue eyes, blond hair and improbably large, bright white teeth
Oh barman, mixologist, dreamer of drinks, he knew from
the start I was that kind of minx
And swept me away to the depths of his warm, narrow bunk
Alone in the dark, lit by passion's bright spark, our week 'neath the
covers was more than a lark
I fell for that Nordic man-mountain, that muscle-bound lunk
Regards to Romania, cheers to the Scots
Hoist up your glass to those odd Hottentots
Put on a grass skirt and dance with the dear Polynesians
Viva the Spanish, hurrah for the Hun
Bless the East Indians, every one
But curse me, as love has, and join me to "Damn the Norwegians"
I climbed from the train in the dark and the rain, he passed
me his address, we shouted in vain
Our fingertips touched through the window, the memory lives on
The gust it was strong, although not very long, enough to make everything
right go so wrong
The train pulled away, the wind howled, and the paper was gone
You know I've a hist'ry, to some I'm a myst'ry, at times
I've been itchy and terribly blist'ry
But only that once did young Cupid my fool heart impale
Lars never returned, though my candle it burned, did he search high and
low or was I woman spurned?
To these questions I raise up this glass of medicinal ale
Let's drink to the Russians, the Turks and the Poles
Here's to the Swiss with their cheese full of holes
Good for the Greeks, all that money they're earning as Grecians
Bravo to the Brits, though their Empire's diminished
Salute to the Swedes, and now I'm quite Finnished
Except for this burning desire to say, "Damn the Norwegians!"
-Emily Chesley 1912
- "Scholarship" by David Lurie,
Flyboy
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