Pity him up to his waist in middle age, neither celibate nor pervert in ceramics, only ultimate with a finger caught in the clay cookie jar. Leading under the slatted moonlight of palm trees, opening, shutting, like a nervous venetian blind - he said shyly, "Have you ever done this before?" She said, "No," curling her toes expectantly into the sand. God sighed relief through his gray beard. I don't know what happened to him. But she went home, a smug pendulum of skirts, to inform her husband, who had angelic nightmares ever after, "Gabriel told me to." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE QUALITY OF COURAGE by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET CONTRA MORTEM: THE CHILD'S BEING by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE BIRTH OF VENUS by HAYDEN CARRUTH DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 5. THE DANCING GIRL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON HER EYES TWIN POOLS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |