Mormon’s Invade Lesbians’ House - Midnight Drive of Janie the Queer

The Mormon’s are coming!  The Mormon’s are coming!

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight drive of Janie the Queer,
On the 4th of November, in 2008;

We’ll all remember that famous date.

She said to her partner, “If the Mormon’s march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the Coit tower as a signal light,–
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to drive and spread the alarm
Through every Homosex village and farm,
For the gay folk to be up and to arm.”

Then she said “Good-night!” and with a muff that did soar
Silently rowed to the Funkytown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the San Francisco Bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Oakland, LDS man-of-war;
A phantom temple, with each steeple and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tithe.

Meanwhile, her partner through alley and street
Wanders and watches, with eager ears,
Till in the silence around her she hears
The muster of Mormon men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then she climbed the tower of Coit,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round her made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,–
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where she paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the yard, lay the drunk,
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in oils so hot but not still
That she could hear, like a big old kerthunk,
The watchful night-wind, as it did blow
Creeping along from condo to condo,
And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”
A moment only she feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the inability to wed;
For suddenly all her thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,–
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to buckle and drive,
Gased and ready, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Janie the Queer.
Now she patted her hybrid’s side,
Now she gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened her seat belt’s girth;
But mostly she watched with eager search
The belfry tower of Coit,
As it rose above the raves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as she looks, on the belfry’s height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
She springs to the hybrid, the steering wheel  she turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on her sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.

A hurry of wheels in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a hybrid flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of the queer nation was driving that night;
And the spark struck out by that hybrid, in her flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
She has left the city and mounted the steep,
And beneath her, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Bay, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Nothing is heard - it’s a hybrid she drives.

It was twelve by the Ferry Building clock
When she crossed the bridge into that great big town.
She hoped not to see any nude cock,
Or hear the barking of any mean dog,
As she felt the damp of the Bay’s thick fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the Ferry Building clock,
When she galloped into the next town.
she saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as she passed,
And the meeting-house windows, black and bare,
Gaze at her with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the mean-spirited work they would look upon.

It was two by the Ferry Building clock,
When she came to the bridge in another town.
She heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadow brown.
And one was safe and asleep in her bed
Who at the voting booth would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying - not wed,
Pierced by the LDS  Mormon gall.

You’ll learn the rest; how they continued to wed and
How the Mormon’s voted and fled,—
How the queers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and gay bar wall,
Chasing the Mormons down the lane,
Then crossing the streets to emerge again

To enter the booths to cast a vote

And, no - they don’t want next - to marry a goat . . .

So through the night drove Janie the Queer;
And so through the night went her cry of alarm
To every Homosex village and farm,—
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
About love, about family, about heroic deeds,
And the midnight message of Janie the Queer.

http://gretawire.foxnews.com/2008/10/27/apple-and-prop-8-the-calif-prop-seeking-to-ban-gay-marriage/ 

http://www.foxnews.com/wires/2008Oct31/0,4670,GayMarriage,00.html

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