Guest guest Posted July 28, 2006 Report Share Posted July 28, 2006 Pan: the Janitor The school is closed, the children gone. He sighs, old man hitching up the sagging pants, fetching the broom to sweep history before him broken to fine dust and abandoned: crayon stubs, clips, gum wrapper, a broken Acropolis -- oh, but for a beer! then on down the lockered hall and into the music room the instruments alert in silence: triangles, drums, xylophone, and lo, in the corner: the Pipes of Pan! the shadow lengthens, the broom begins its hairy beat, his feet to tap, his jaw to wag, till suddenly with a huge joyous shout he seizes the pipes, sits crosslegged again (though on a paint-stained table) to pipe and sway and sway and pipe the liquid ululating plaint until his haunt of Mount Hymettus looms through purple haze -- ( pellucid nymphs flee gleefully between the olive trees! ) Ho! for prancing and dancing an orgy like the old days, his fine hoofs capering up the rocks him leering and winking and they covering this hot spicy old goat with fair garlands of fragrance and kisses! a.o.howell Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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