Monday, April 20, 2015

Hen Sanderson



Hen Sanderson, he fished fur shad
On the Connecticut, he had
About ez hard a name, they tell,
Ez yew could find outside of – well,
Outside uv any river ring
Where drinkin’ wuz the proper thing.
Ol’ Hen? Why, he would ruther drink
Than eat or drink or smoke or think;
An’ I hev heerd it told by dad
He’d ruther drink than catch a shad.

Hen Sanderson ez jest about
Drunk his ol’ carcass down an’ out.
He drank all day so he would be
A-feelin’ good fur night, you see;
An’ nights he’d drink the same, they say
So he would feel all right by May,
An’ so he drank the hull durn time
Tur keep himself a-feelin’ prime;
An’ finally he got so bad
He, well, he couldn’t fish fur shad.

He hung around the river shore
Where they wuz mendin’ net an’ swore
He’d never seen so dry a crowd
Sence he wuz born. Someone allowed
He’d be’n a soak so long that he
Jest thought thet ev’rything he see
Wuz dry, except the river an’
The hotel barroom close at han’.

Hen Sanderson he got so low
They turned him out; he hed to go
An’ sleep in boats along the bank,
An’ had to steal fur what he drank.
One night he broke a locker where
He found a jug stowed by with care,
An’ in the dark he swilled an’ swilled
Until his mighty thirst wuz killed.

Says Hen, “I’ll hev a little puff,
An’ then I’ll sleep, – hic – like enough.”
He filled his pipe then struck a light
Fetchin’ it close to his mouth – the night
Lit up jest like a gun went off,
An’ sech a noise! We reached the wharf
Where the boat wuz an’ there we found
A part uv Henry floatin’ round.
An’ mongst the wreckage there we seen
A ha’f filled jug marked “gasoline”.



April 20, ‘08


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