Editor’s Note: I am not going to fulminate this morning about the alleged COVID Relief Bill, festooned with all sorts of things completely unrelated to the pandemic, and which actually represents all sorts of what we used to call “Pork.” There is very little contained in it for the people most affected by COVID. The Bill actually represents a breakdown in what we used to call “the Appropriations Process,” and is now a wild grab bag of completely unrelated things. Some of them include reforming the Pakistani marriage process ($10-15 Million), necessary horse-racing reforms, new cars for overseas HIV/AIDS workers and another shot of cash for the beloved Kennedy Center here in DC. In the old days, all those things would be discussed in Committee and voted on before being forwarded to the House and Senate.. Now we operate under what are called “Continuing Resolutions” in which all the crazy stuff from the previous year are “continued” without debate, while all sorts of wonderful new things are jumbled on top and again passed without debate. It is sort of crazy, but it absolves our elected representatives of responsibility for what they were “elected” to do. It is pretty crazy, isn’t it? Oh well, I told you this was going to be an entertaining year. Marlow has another and welcome approach to the whole thing, and shows us something about ourselves, and the things we do. Enjoy!

-Vic

This Old Porch

Two blocks from the street named Bull is an old porch under sunny skies most every day
Standing cooled by two maple trees shade in sweet Savannah, Gee Ay
We sit there playing hide-n-seek with the plague, medicated with bourbon-n-gin
We’re not sweatin’ nor a-pantin’ this stuff ‘cause the fun here it never ends
No, we got stories to share while drinking, since raisin’ cane ain’t no mortal sin

Sitting on this old porch been as good as eating special homemade enchiladas
With lots of cheese, green Hass chili‘d salsa with a side of corn chip saladas
You can’t get better even at Rancho Alegre downtown on MLK
With sweet tea and young Cuban refugee waitresses who will smile every time
We leave ‘em big tips on thirty-dollar bills — a plague time payday dime

Our old porch’s a movable feast, all are welcome to join-in just off main street Savannah Gee Ay
In post rebellion 1881 a businessman‘s family built and lived on it for 120 years of summery days
It’s got a side yard with flowers since W came to town
On it I suspect lots of Horehound candies and Red Hots were gobbled down
Yes, I do, but now it’s bourbon and gin that flicker and tickle our old movie picture spirits

This old porch’s a weathered, gray-hair that’s seen a hundred and forty years of Savannah Gee Ay
We’re doing all we can not to let her give in to age these days
She always takes in those escaping summer hailstorms cruel fate
So long as they bring in some bourbon or gin and ain’t too late
We crave assorted pick-me-ups for snackin as we listen to each other prattle
Just sharing our stuff keeps us safe from that muddy rivered-lung death rattle
No longer is there cane to grind and cotton’s long been gone
All we got is each other, endless days of What, Me Worry to come

Spencer’s old porch seen a long time of waiting but not forgetting
Remembering those coming back, not crying ’bout friends leaving
And remembering forever them that were struck down
And the laughter and the curse of our dumb luck
While cursing those sons-of-bitches, who said we’d never get back up

Two blocks from the street named Bull stands an old porch under sunny skies most every day
Standing under two maple trees shade in sweet Savannah, Gee Ay
We sit there playing hide-n-seek with the plague, medicated with bourbon-n-gin
We’re not sweatin’ nor a-pantin’ this stuff ‘cause the fun here it never ends
No, we got stories to share while drinking, since raisin’ cane ain’t no mortal sin

This old Park Avenue porch, old to now, top to bottom:

ca 1900

Spring1954: Samuel Spencer (original owner’s son) and his great grand niece

2001

2008

Spring 2009

Spring 2016

December 2020

———-

And with a tip of the hat to Bob Dylan . . .

This plague’s been a lifetime of lost loves and blood
There was blackness no truth, airwaves full of crud
It came from an eastern wilderness, an evil devoid of form
Come on out and sit a spell, the porch said
I’ll give you shelter from this storm

And if friends pass this way today, they can rest assured
I’ll always do my best by them, on that I give my word
In this world of black-eyed liars, we’re fighting not to be harmed
Come on out and sit a spell, the porch said
I’ll give you shelter from this storm

Suddenly April turned, we saw it marching here and there
Its icy grip around our chests, wheezing in too little air
It silently came over us and jammed upon us crowns of thorns
Come on out and sit a spell, the porch said
I’ll give you shelter from this storm

Lotsa words passed among Park Avenue’s porches, there was little risk involved
Nothing about this plague up to summer’s end had been resolved
Couldn’t imagine a Christmas, where we’d be safe and warm
Come on out and sit a spell, the porch said
I’ll give you shelter from this storm

We were burned out by the election, buried in political mail
Poisoned were our politics, total BS from the campaign trail
Voters treated like prey, ravaged in the fields of corn
Come on out and sit a spell, the porch said
I’ll give you shelter from this storm

Now there’s a wall between us, something’s gone, not just lost
We took so much for granted, FBI got its tap wires crossed
Come to think, the plague began one Asian grey-skied morn
Come on out and sit a spell, the porch said
I’ll give you shelter from this storm

Run-off election’s like a foreign country’s, carpet baggers crossing our state line
Truth can’t survive their razor-edged lies, pressing me to make them mine
If I could only turn back the clock to when America’s truth was born
Come on out and sit a spell, the porch said
I’ll give you shelter from this storm

Well, old legs feel like I’m walking on nails, while politicians glide about
But nothing really matters much, gloom and doom the candidates shout
And their empty-eyed TV-types blow their triumphant horns
Come on out and sit a spell, the porch said
I’ll give you shelter from this storm

Copyright © 2020 From My Isle Seat
www.vicsocotra.com