Mangled first lines

On contemplating Nashville.

When you’re a loner and life is making you crazy
You can always bomb—downtown . . .

I placed a car in Tennessee,
And blew it up all ’round me . . .

Whenever Mister Warner parked down town,
We people on the pavement yelled at him . . .

Whose wheels these are, I think I know.
His house is in the suburbs, though . . .

Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me—
His camper held but just Ourselves, and lots of TNT . . .

Yesterday upon the square, I saw a van that wasn’t there.
It wasn’t there again today. I wish, I wish, it’d blow away . .

The old Dodge parks backwards without blowing up,
I remember when it ran over a pup.

Much have I travelled on the streets of old,
And so few empty spots and spaces seen . . .

In such venue did city code
A blast free loading zone decree . . .

Do not you gentlemen park here tonight—
Our meter maids and cops will ruin your day . . .

Stop the drivers of bigger cars,
The masculine ones, and bid them strip . . .

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made gory and glummer by this ton of junk . . .

Tinkle, tinkle, little car.
Now you’ve really gone too far . . .

When RV parts and broken glass
Do taint dear Nashville with affright . . .

h/t. the Puddy