"Life's too short to be a whore anymore," I sang out to the Atlantic Ocean from my seaside room in St. Malo, the brain quite fugal until I took a long walk seaward at low tide and watched closely old French ladies gathering crustaceans. When they left they shook their fingers saying, "@3maree, maree@1," and I watched them walk away toward shore where I had no desire to go. A few stopped and waved their arms wildly. The tide! The tide goes out, then comes in in this place huge, twenty feet or so, the tidal bore sweeping slowly in but faster than me. I still didn't want to leave because I was feeling like a very old whore who wanted to drown, but then this wispy ego's pulse drifted away with a shitting gull. Before I died I must eat the three-leveled "plateau" of these crustaceans with two bottles of Sancerre. It's dinner that drives the beaten dog homeward, tail half-up, half-down, no dog whore but trotting legs, an empty stomach. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 18. THE CHARM by THOMAS CAMPION THE CANONIZATION by JOHN DONNE BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT FOR SISTER CAROLINE [DECEMBER 2O, 1860] by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES ON THE AMOROUS AND PATHETIC STORY OF ARCADIUS AND SEPHA by L. B. THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE!; A LEGEND OF PALESTINE AND -- WEST KENT by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: 8. OF CONSTANCY by WILLIAM BASSE |