A rough and ready cousin lived on barley and water,
and barley water, too,
and slept on a board, while the women of the city
dressed themselves as flowers. From
every ear a bauble spun, from every fez
a tassel.
Not me—I was barefoot
until I was ten and the boys wore
soft white dresses like nightgowns.
If you were in town
for just a week in summer, you’d find
yourself yearning
for big-ticket items.
What you cannot pronounce you’d pay
too much for; all the grit would be
glitter, and/or vice
versa.
The dogs and cats are sprawling on the Turkey carpets;
a racket rattles the door.
The ortolan is steaming up the view
beneath the napkin. The portions are small, and there won’t
be any more. I do not like that music
at my dinner! I do not like
the growl of politesse!
Better beans and bacon, better some
peace, than
cakes and ale and guns and fear and butter.