A boot called Botte Sauvage renders rattlers harmless but they cost too much; the poet bitten to death for want of boots. I'm told that black corduroy offers protection from moonburn and that if you rub yourself with a skunk, women will stay away. There is a hiding place among the relics of the fifties, poets hiding in the trunks of Hudson Hornets off the Merritt Parkway. They said she was in Rome with her husband, a sculptor, but I'm not fooled. At the Excelsior I'll expose her as a whore. Down in the canyon the survivors were wailing in the overturned car but it was dark, the cliffs steep, so we drove on to the bar. She wants affection but is dressed in aluminum siding and her edges are jagged; when cold, the skin peels off the tongue at touch. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 22 by ALFRED TENNYSON WHERE LIES THE LAND by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH IN APRIL by MARGARET LEE ASHLEY SONGS OF NIGHT TO MORNING: 2. AND YET by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) KING EDWARD THE THIRD by WILLIAM BLAKE MAXIMS FOR THE OLD HOUSE: THE CHAMBER by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |