Poems December 2019
But a desk and telephone.
And a living lay in this?
No need to swing a pick,
Dig ditches, turn a trick?
The thought can hit me still,
If not with quite the force
It did at first, of course . . .
The feeling’s changed as well:
From great straight up to great
Cut with fortunate.
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This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 38 Number 4, on page 39
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