I imagined her dead, killed by some local maniac who crept upon the house with snowmobile at low throttle. Alcohol that lets me play out hates and loves and fights; in each bottle is a woman, the betrayer and the slain. I insist on a one-to-one relationship with nature. If Thursday I'm a frog it will have to be my business. You are well. You grow taller. Friends think I've bought you stilts but it is I shrinking, up past my knees in marl. She said take out the garbage. I trot through a field with the sack in my teeth. At the dump I pause to snarl at a rat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEGY: THE LAMENT OF EDWARD BLASTOCK; FOR RICHARD ROWLEY by EDITH SITWELL SONNET: 8. WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY by JOHN MILTON SIR JOHN FRANKLIN; ON THE CENTOTAPH IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY by ALFRED TENNYSON THE MOTHER'S LAMENT by ST. CLAIR ADAMS SELF-COMMUNING by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE ARCADIUS AND SEPHA by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |