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(for
Edward Abbey 1927-1989)
De ole Debil ‘m dun look at Abbey, dat bad and sinful man, who dat St. Peter dun sent on down. I‘s don’t much like yo’ sort, de ole Debil ups ‘n ‘e sez to Abbey. yo’ might go git ‘way not believin’ ‘n de God Almighty but yo’ ain’t gittin’ ‘way wit not believin’ ‘n me. De ole Debil ‘e ups ‘n shows to dat profane man, dat sinner Abbey, yes, ‘e ups ‘n dun show’s ‘m clear runnin’ water ‘n green, green forrest. Yo’ ain’t gittin’ none of dat sez de ole Debil. Dat ole Debil din ‘e ups ‘n shows dat unregenerate Abbey who be all full of lust ‘n contrariness dem sweet cities all chuck full of music, ‘n dem city good times, ‘n dem city poets,
‘n dem awful pretty city wimin folks, ‘n de smell of dem spare ribs cookin’ up. ‘Cause it is yo’ dudn’t pray none sez de old Debil to Abbey. yo’ ain’t neber gonna joyful strum yo’ git fiddle in dese ‘ere city places. De ole Debil ‘e looks at Abbey ‘n ‘e looks at Abbey’s hard, hard heart. I’s gonna send ya to dat deepest, hottest part of hell ‘cause yo’ be such uh mean ‘n disbelievin’ man. De ole Debil ‘e dun goes ‘n puts dat bad man Abbey ‘n dis deep, deep trance din ‘e casts Abbey’s worthless hide down ‘n de lowest hole dar be ‘n hell. Dat dun fix ya’ sez dat ole Debil to Abbey. Abbey, dat ‘eathen, ‘m wakes up din looks all ‘round hisself. Dat ole Debil, dat ole wicked ‘n fallen Angel dun gone ‘n put Abbey in de hot ‘n barrens of dem dry desert wastelands, desolated dere ‘til Kingdom come. Po’ Abbey, dat desert lovin’ pagan ‘e dun go ‘n git on his hairy face dis big ole grin dat’s gonna last ‘m for eber ‘n eber ‘n eber mo’.
Irwin
Wingo dispatches for Lowbagger.org from somewhere in the desert.
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