The Ragman's Tour

RAAAAAAAAGS and BOTTLLLLES moans the
shabbily-clad ragman on this warm summer day.
Let us follow here on my mostly Irish neighborhood
the ragman perched on his wobbly-wheeled worn
for worse horse-drawn cart.

RAAAAAAAAGS and BOTTLLLLES bellows the solicitor
of household refuse from his toothless maw his serpentine
 tongue reaches to his jaw the antiquated aged nag plods
along the macadamized street.

RAAAAAAAAGS and BOTTLLLLES he slobbers while
passing by Irish Mick O'Leary the heavy-set rascally
teenager who by accident blinded his very own eye with a
ricocheting BB from an air gun.

RAAAAAAAAGS and BOTTLLLLES our middle-age
moocher slurps looking to his left while dumpy Mrs.
Boyle provider of a green apple-dunking contest in her
neighborhood-kid-filled-kitchen on St. Patrick's Day
places empty bottles on the curb in front of her home.

RAAAAAAAAGS and BOTTLLLLES is heard as the
wagon driver is greeted with the mouth watering aroma
of chicken soup from the flat of widow Nussbaum the
street's proud and dearly loved Jewish lady.

RAAAAAAAAGS and BOTTLLLLES the raggy drools
passing by our front-yard WWII Victory Garden. "There
goes Mr. Prosperity," chimes my sardonic mom as music
from the record player filled our living room with John
McCormack's voice singing Mother Machree.

RAAAAAAAAGS and BOTTLLLLES slips out between
the downturned lips of our touring hustler while rotund
Father McCarthy is seen standing on the sidewalk giving The Sign
Of The Cross to a dignified and stately Billy Kelly who
had just served Daily Mass as altar boy for the cleric.

RAAAAAAAAGS and BOTTLLLLES dribbles our seedy
huckster passing by the Houlihan's peeling their eyes
 from the front porch and never addressing one another
by anything but their surname. "How are you this
beautiful sunny day Mrs. Houlihan?—Fairly fair Mr. Houlihan.
And how's Himself this splendid day?" sparkles the
time-honored morning salutations.

RAAAAAAAAGS and BOTTLLLLES slavers hizzoner
to the tinkling giggles of the children reading comic
books on the Mahoney's front porch. The tiny tots mimic him
by protruding their tongues as far out as possible for
 rambunctious children——RAAAAAAAGSHH and
BAW—ULLS they chortle on and on and on.

RAAAAAAAAGS and BOTTLLLLES resounds in the
narrow paths and short-cuts along with the distinct tones
emanating from the violin of Moira O'Malley who
 is stringing out her daily practice overseen by her
buxomy mom who is standing over her with a
potato masher in one hand and Rosary Beads in the other.

In the meantime on this sultry afternoon those of us
who did not care to endure RAAAAAAAAGS and
BOTTLLLLES hurried on down to old Sally Reilly's
cottage to listen to her player piano tinkling Irish
tunes in a jolly mode—Kathleen Mavourneen Molly
Brannigan The Rose of Tralee and Dear Little
Shamrock played for the sake of the senior's
memories of the ol' sod.

RAAAAAAAAGS and BOTTLLLLES echoes on the
clapboard of the residences as the slapdash wagon
hobbles on. Sean and Ian McGinty occupy their
summer day sitting on their back steps recording the
precise time scheduled airlines fly over their humble
shelter.

RAAAAAAAAGS and BOTTLLLLES one last time.
From the cellar of the McGinty's abode can be heard their
tipsy granddad cursing bloody Orangemen and offering
with his pint a paean to the rebel victims of the 1916
horse neighs and whinnies until it becomes a faint
memory this normal day in Summer '42.
 

Ronald K. Burke is an associate professor emeritus of speech communication at Syracuse University, now living in Southern California.