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This lyric of Don Juan Henrey's is unusual insofar as that unlike almost all of his other poems, it is not, as one might say, "stomach turning": i.e. it does not immediately make one "want to chunder". This is a curious anomaly, and most critics agree that this is primarily because of its shortness - the indications are that had it gone on much longer, it certainly would have become more disgusting. For example, we dare not contemplate what the diseased poetic imagination of Henrey would have done with the dung-smeared Schulze, near a duck pond, feeling monstrously horny but having been left by his girl. But fortunately he did not, so we need not darken our minds with such speculations.
Incidentally, this piece, to a large extent, may be regarded as poetical prophecy, since Richard Schulze did indeed, if not destroy, at least damage his 1935 Aston Martin in a vintage car race the following summer, although the encounter was with a wall rather than something more organic (see 'The Goer') (CH).