That Argument

I don't respect you, and you hate me, too,
So why are we together? Are we friends?
Whatever nonsense one of us contends
The other laughs at. When I yell at you,
You kick the dog, I cringe, the air turns blue,
We have that argument that never ends
That's all about the way your face offends
My pure aesthetic sense. You know that's true.

But you're right, too, about my ugly face:
I have the sort of eyes that make men weep,
And legs reminding women of sick sheep.
But this will vanish, leaving no harsh trace:
Some day we'll both be sweet as holy grace,
Some day we'll both be beautiful as sleep.

The Hungry Guest

I came for supper, even though I feel
Your cooking isn't worth a bitter fig.
It seemed that you accepted my red wig,
Which certainly looked more upset than real,
And these old trousers, and the single wheel
Attached to each shoe, and the beaded rig
My brand new belt consists of, not too big
For fondling, but you would not serve the meal.

You told me I was getting no dessert,
No sweet completing things, no savoury start,
No vegetables, no lamb, no mincemeat tart,
Because you looked at me, and your eyes hurt.
I'm not quite ready to explain my shirt,
So colourful and frenzied. Like my heart.

The Broken Promise

The Fire Department promised me a hose,
But turned on me and shut the water off.
I called the Mayor; all he did was scoff.
"They run the city," he explained, his nose
Twitching. I said, "I guess you're one of those."
"Those what?" he asked me, with a nasty cough.
I answered, "Mice," and threw him in the trough
The horses drink from — where the water goes.

So now the Mayor thinks I should be jailed,
The Fire Chief stands outside my house and jeers,
Reporters amplify the nation's fears,
Misquoting me, but I have never quailed,
And all their schemes have evidently failed:
I am a hero, as destruction nears.