The kind you’re born with, the kind you choose, the kind that teach Catholic school
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Take a hint. These men are not kidding.
In this democracy no one can buy
Up the town. Hide your joy, Happy Rock,
Like a stash of jewels.
No one likes a man who gets drunk on water.
Hag-bound even then, you gobbled up
my unlived life without words.
I fed you the best parts of me.
“Wrong!” cried my friends, bound to succeed.
In this late wisdom it is your eyes
I respect, and a mouth which taught me
a fear of curves. Regretfully,
no one has been as right as you.
Who ate whom? I gorged on sorrow,
grew round and wise, holding back,
while you became an early wife,
boxed up, and perhaps dumb.
Twice the age of that fine frenzy
I think of you still stinking with life.
This is simple. Your eyes burning
on stairways. I ask for nothing less.