Winslow Homer, American
“Go Ahead, Jennifer. Blow That Thing in My Face One More Time. Give Me a Reason,” 1883
Watercolor
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/// Gabriella is feeling forlorn;
her Mom dissed how she blew The Fog Horn.
Didn’t make enough noise,
though she did attract boys
(who made lewd remarks dripping with scorn).
/// Local lads gathered round each time she
tried to warn ships of rocks they can’t see.
As the horn touched her lips
they’d laugh, making crude quips,
“That’s not blowing; come— practice on me!”
/// Now embarrassed and shamed, Gabby cried.
Told her Mom just how hard she had tried.
On this same rocky shore,
fogbound five years before,
in a shipwreck her father had died.
/// Mom assured Gabriella she’s proud
of the life-saving pledge Gabby vowed.
Then she taught her first-born
how to blow the fog horn
from her diaphragm, making it LOUD.
/// Though she learned to blow tones loud and long,
Gabriella thought, “This system’s wrong.
If I run out of breath
I cannot prevent death.
Let’s shoot cannons or strike a huge gong.”
/// Gabby tried to devise something slick
to warn ships when the fog is too thick.
Answers came in a dream:
Fog horns powered by steam!
And, in time, that device did the trick.