The Public

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My subject here is simply a term to express
“A somewhat,” the nature of which is a guess.
Of the substance contained in the above term,
It seems almost impossible for one to learn,
No image of it in his mind can he conceive,
Reflects the intelligence he’d wish to receive.
What the public looks like or is,
Is more than you can tell or wis.
According to some it’s “ideas in th’ abstract.”
So let us take that for the real fact.
The public does not seem to be you or I
Or anybody else—I’ll tell you why;
Whoever or whatever the thing may be,
He, she, or it shoulders blame for you and me,
For wickedness done in his dear name,
And credit for intended good, the same,
In very many cases that men declaim.
If a bunch of grafters wish to float a deal,
Say in baking powder, wheat, or oat meal;
First the public pulse they scientifically feel,
To discover signs of fever germs in foods,
We’ve been eating, and such other goods
Of the same kinds we’ve bought all our lives,
And from which others are supporting wives,
And children as they’ve done all their lives.
Of course their doctor this pulse carefully felt,
And discovered that germ tracks were smelt
In most of the stuff we put in our pelt.
He discovered too that alum would
Dry up the diaphragm if used in food.
Also that certain foods contained sand,
That might get into the public craw, and
Brace them up too much to patriotically vote
For such a pure food law as they’d like to float.
So after their analysis was properly wrote,
They get their pure food law nicely framed up
To suit their scheme and for the people to gulp.
Then their bugle horns they did blare,
And it carried before we were aware.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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