who swam in the pool beneath
the rail he leaned on:
she was something else indeed.
She was the dream within
the dream within. He shouted: hallo,
halloo.
He did the handkerchief dance all alone.
O Desire! it is the beautiful dress
for which the proper occasion
never arises.
O the wedding cake and the good cigar!
O the souvenir ashtray!
Rape in the Engineering Building
What I saw on his face scared me—ants
on jelly; two cars ducked as he zigzagged
past the library up to the tracks
where the other students were just falling
from classes. One big man yelled,
stop him stop that man, but I thought
it was personal and got out of their
way. Finally the aproned man told us
in a high stuck voice it was rape
in the engineering building, and
the rapist was chugging farther up
the inclined edge of town into
the shadowy upright garden.
Full of thanks, we took after him.
The Blue Booby
The blue booby lives
on the bare rocks
of Galápagos
and fears nothing.
It is a simple life:
they live on fish,
and there are few predators.
Also, the males do not
make fools of themselves
chasing after the young
ladies. Rather,
they gather the blue
objects of the world
and construct from them
a nest—an occasional
Gaulois package,
a string of beads,
a piece of cloth from
a sailor’s suit. This
replaces the need for
dazzling plumage;
in fact, in the past
fifty million years
the male has grown
considerably duller,
nor can he sing well.
The female, though,
asks little of him—
the blue satisfies her
completely, has
a magical effect
on her. When she returns
from her day of
gossip and shopping,
she sees he has found her
a new shred of blue foil:
for this she rewards him
with her dark body,
the stars turn slowly
in the blue foil beside them
like the eyes of a mild savior.
The Pet Deer
The Indian Princess
in her apricot tea gown
moves through the courtyard
teasing the pet deer
as if it were her lover.
The deer, so small and
confused, slides on the marble
as it rises on its hind legs
towards her, slowly, and with
a sad, new understanding.
She does not know what
the deer dreams or desires.
Up Here
The motel was made for love
as you were. I undressed you
with grace and tenderness,
kissing each newly bared part.
There you lay, your small, white
body throbbing in my hand
like a bird. We were silent.
The right word was not needed.
Supple. What was I doing
suddenly pacing around
the bed, scratching my head,
staring down at your gaze up
at me? Recognition.
I would not call you svelte.
Your breasts were barely a hand-
ful; I like small breasts, which fit
a hand. Your thighs were a feast,
though, and, walking, now and then
I would dip down to nibble
them. They were
