  DRUNK with the whiffs of steak in passage-ways, With many a genial bar and kindly scene Of sickly shrimps illumined by the rays Of rose acetylene, He wandered through the streets with empty maw; And winter nights are raw. And through a steaming window he could see A saw-dust restaurant; a woman there Was seated on an ancient lecher’s knee With hat askew and hair In blondine-tendrils falling Flora-wise Over her blinking eyes. Her lips like currants glistened and her arms Sticky with strange narcotics, downy-white. The elder pinched them, sucking in their charms With pudgy fingers tight, And of a sudden pealed behind her scarf A clear, metallic laugh. The youth outside relit his cigarette— In silence longed for love articulate, But he could watch no longer, for the sweat Trickled a-down his pate And stung his eyes; and what could be attained When wages all were drained? |
|
