How do I explain myself to a man who thinks eating is pure pleasure? He looks on the passing scene as he chews. So that we can communicate, I speak about his food being nicely seasoned. He can smile at me between gulps, talking about the passing crowds of excited weepers and mourners headed -- where to? -- in such numbers. He would like to know to what disaster or to whose funeral. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GOLDEN CORPSE by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET IN EQUAL SACRIFICE by ROBERT FROST MIDSUMMER BIRDS by ROBERT FROST TO A MOTH SEEN IN WINTER by ROBERT FROST A POEM FROM BOULDER RIDGE by JAMES GALVIN ILLUSIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MOTHERHOOD by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |