"Nan's Last Hurrah"
(a/k/a "Too Much Joy Killed My Car")
by Marc Hirsh
written March 18-30, 1995 and never published, although I believe I did in fact perform it in the dining hall one night...
(note: The events recounted here took place on March 17-18, 1995. I was three hours from home waiting to find out if my car could be fixed, and I was bored out my my skull. So I started writing an epic poem about it, albeit one with serious scansion problems. I really just wanted to see my favorite band perform.)
Fill me, O muse! As I tell of a tale
That the world will be blessed to have versed
It encompasses life! It encompasses death!
Out on highway the seventy-first
The story begins as we started a journey
We left on the day of St. Patrick
We had planned it for days and we soon headed off
On a fiery steed geriatric
Nan was bright! Nan was golden! Nan shone like a star!
For adventure she had endless thirst!
But what was in store on that day she knew not
Down on highway the seventy-first
A handful of us did set out on that day
And we didn't care what it was costin'
We rounded up Nan, cranked her to sixty-five
And we pointed her grille towards Austin
Five of us, Jeremy, Margaret, Marcotte
Laura and myself did then deploy
A quartet of minstrels was what we then sought
Of the famed nom de plume Too Much Joy
Nan jumped at the chance to explode into action
She seemed to me more than quite eager
We never would guess that despite her strong start
Her time on this great earth grew yet meager
We hadn't yet known it, we couldn't have guessed
In our own worlds we all were immersed
If something went wrong, then we wouldn't have noticed
On highway the seventy-first
How she rode! How she sped! Down the seventy-first!
While young Margaret lay down in her back
Nan purred like a kitten, but didn't reveal
Her poor heart was beginning to crack
Three hours after we'd started our trip
We were just at the point of succeeding
The object of our quest was nearly in view
When proud Nan suddenly started bleeding
We stopped and asked Nan what had happened to her
It seemed as though her poor heart had burst
She left us there stranded and started to weep
Down on highway the seventy-first
What to do? What to do? What on earth should we do?
Should we seek aid for our old companion?
Do we go to the show? There were too many choices
This had never happened to Pace Mannion
"Leave her here," someone said, "We can go to the show
It'd be pointless for us to turn back, see?
We'll call a mechanic when we've seen the band."
So we all piled into a taxi
We went to the gig, which did rock like all hell
They gave us the show they'd rehearsed
We went back to Nan, who we rode to a garage
On highway the seventy-first
We talked to a man, 'twas an absolute fool
He replaced a hose which had been saggy
This wasn't the problem, but he sent us off
It surprised us not he was an Aggie
Two miles down, though we didn't know yet
Nan did finally make her last gasp
Her insides did burn and she gave up the ghost
And she entered mortality's grasp
We talked to a cop, who then talked to a tow truck
Who talked a whole lot to his wife
He didn't quite get it but we all crammed into the
Cab, which pulled Nan, void of life
The towman was stupid, he took Nan right back
To the place of the Aggie we'd cursed
They took a bus back home, while I got a room
While dead Nan lay on seventy-first
In the morning I called up my buddy Doug after
I'd washed the green paint from my hair
He drove me, amused, to the Aggie's garage
In the hopes that fair Nan would be there
Well, she was, but another guy claimed that nobody
Could helped me at all with my woes
I called triple-A, who did take twice as long
As they promised for a truck that tows
I'd wasted the morning, but now we could move
Even if the truck driver was surly
We went to another place, one more mechanic
I may just yet get back home early
Alas, I was wrong, and the damage was done
And cost more than what could have been pursed
Nan was quite dead, run to death by that Aggie
On highway the seventy-first
It came as a shock, but Nan had to be stripped
Me preparing for her to be junked
I watched as the heavy hearse dragged her away
Lifeless, motionless, dead and defunct
I fled from the town, I got out on a bus
And I hightailed myself back to Houston
All the while mem'ries came back of my car,
The one all of my friends had caboosed in
She's gone! O she's gone! My poor lovable steed!
And her wounds would nevermore be nursed!
But her heart and her soul will remain among us
Though she died on the seventy-first