What of the phrases, long decayed,
Of paleologic pedigree,
Musty, moldy, frazzled, and frayed —
A doddering, dusty company?
What shall be done with them? say we;
And east and west the people bawl,
Dump them into the Cannery!—
Into the brine go one and all.
“Grilled” and “lauded” and “scored” and “flayed,”
“Common or garden variety,”
“Wave of crime” and “reform crusade,”
“Along these lines” and “it seems to me,”
“Noted savant,” “I fail to see,”
The “groaning board” of the “banquet hall,” —
Masonjar‘ em in “ghoulish glee” —
Into the brine go one and all.
“Succulent bivalves,” “trusty blade,”
“Last analysis,” “practical-ly,”
“Lone highwayman” and “fusillade,”
“Millionaire broker and clubman,” “gee!”
“In reply to yours,” “can such things be?”
“Sounded the keynote” or “trumpet call,” —
Can‘ em, pickle‘ em, one, two, three —
Into the brine go one and all.
Under the spreading chestnut tree
Stands the Cannery, all too small.
The Canner a briny man is he,
And into the brine go one and all.