A brief, fruitless search
A front-porch conversation
A sort of oblong blur
After the relatives had gone
Atkinson, that critic from New York
But now I had this expert before me
Carrying their inane notions
Coloured light played on his face
For a walk through the neighbourhood
Glanced past me at the windows
Growing grimmer by the minute
He asked if we had any questions
He pursed his lips
Her mother would probably collapse with guilt
I eagerly asked what he meant
I have a duty to tell you
I saw them now as victims
I think we had better conclude now
It oppressed both of us
Later that evening
Marriages such as these never last
Mary and I escaped
Mary led me to the priest's office
Negroes walking
Putting me through all this
She apologised
She seemed grim and daunted
Some touch of the Church's admonitions
The ban on birth control
The Church required of them
The pretense we had to play out
The unremitting heat of the night
Their decorum, their subservience
This mysterious entity
We can take this up again the next time we meet
He did not know the Holy Ghost
His eyes flickered with resentment
We could end up as friends
We set upon marriage
A desiccation of spirit
A new surprise each day
We took instruction
No comments:
Post a Comment