Whet My Appetite

I will not eat this dreadful gum-like paste
Made with some awful, nasty bits of ear
And pharynx, with a too-substantial smear
Of bladder tissues. Nothing goes to waste,
But it’s the worst dish I have ever faced.
The chef prepared this with a troubling leer,
And put it on the table with a sneer
That made me think of fruitcake with no taste.

A serving of black pudding, far too red,
Followed by a blancmange strangely not white
Made this dog’s breakfast a disgraceful sight
And made me want to lie down on my bed
Holding a dark, wet compress to my head.
It didn’t even whet my appetite.

Plain and Sensible

My demands are not outrageous, but plain
And sensible, legitimate and fine:
You give me back the kingdom that was mine,
Allow the green songbirds to fly again,
And all the vineyards bask in gentle rain.
The multitudinous seas incarnadine
That I have seen behind your eyes, the sign
Of failure, will abate, as will the stain.

The slain will rise, the conquered will not rest
Disdained and unavenged, the cruel, the mean,
The wicked, and the unabashed will keen,
Mourning their losses, while real goodness, blessed
And succoured, will now reign, with renewed zest,
If you will only give up all you’ve been.

Say It Twice

I never felt as lucky as I felt
That moment, when you said, “Make love to me” —
I made you say it twice, discourteously.
At the bright end of the afternoon, I knelt
And kissed your hands, thinking my heart would melt.
Oh, all of me would melt! At twenty-three,
I sighed, bedazzled, and looked down to see
Your gentle hands, as they undid my belt.

After you left me (after you came back),
Months, seasons passed. Though I refused to pine,
I let you think I did, tried to design
A show of public feeling. It’s a knack:
So many years gone, I still feel the lack
Of your gentle hands suddenly touching mine.

Don’t Forget Love

I don’t want what we have here. Set it free,
This trouble: alterations, altercations,
Imprecations, strife among the nations,
Evolution into tragedy,
Or harmony, some sort of destiny
Now undercut by careless depredations
In the darkness here between the stations.
Don’t forget love. Don’t remember me.

There were some tender moments, but they’re done,
All gone: the impetus, the style, the groove,
The music of the spheres. Don’t stand there — move
Towards some goal: the true, the good, the sun,
A better dream than this. Ask anyone,
It’s time to go. Don’t wait. Things won’t improve.