10
CHICAGO MAY
It's all so old, so slack, so soiled, so scarred,
So shapeless. Were these really living glands
Once, a pure fount to which a boy clung hard
‘And held them with his soft, strong, tiny hands?
Well, history says it happened. But a man
After all doesn't want to kiss Queen Anne!
Ix
fall Earth's hateful names I most abhor
‘The name of Mary. "Tis a bleat. Of course
You must be Mary. Was there not one sore
God could have spared to such a willing horse?
Turn stripes to satire! So the only way
Has been to cut the R out, and say “* May.”
R, “the dog’s letter.” Why you are all R's!
—I pray you pardon the two-pointed prong—
‘Must you keep up the stale romantic farce
That you love sculpture, harmony, and song?
Your god's your belly, and your pride your shame
You are weil fitted with Madonna's name!
x
(The great sow snores.) Ab, but she holds me still.
If T but turned, she would be up and doing,
Crazy with lust or jealousy. Hog-swill
Stirs her to phrenzy, quarrelling or wooing.
Her wreath is mustard-leaves entwined with myrtle:
Her turtle-dove combines the snapping turtle!