On curved flexible necks we look back
To find  Mr. Sweeny near a Mrs.Porter
Of classical fame ,bather in the woods
Now with foot in  soda water fountain.

We imagine grumble of winged chariot.
It will soon pass us by and a Mrs.Porter.
It will soon pass us by and Mr. Sweeny.
Yonder before us lie deserts of eternity.

It may be a thunder that rang in woods
And a window is scattered to our street
From wall papered one room tenement
Where women are backless to  Sweeny.

On our flexible curved neck we are fluid
In  our past histories and current affairs.
Quite collapsible in all affairs and views,
We have no backs for a  winged chariot.

(references are to T.S.Eliot’s The Waste Land)