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''I can smell
the blade that opens the hole
and the pudgy white fingers
that shake out the intestines
like a hankie.''
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Philip Levine (b. 1928), U.S. poet. Animals Are Passing from Our Lives (l. 6-10). . .
New Oxford Book of American Verse, The. Richard Ellmann, ed....
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''It's wonderful how I jog
on four-honed-down ivory toes
my massive buttocks slipping
like oiled parts with each light step.''
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Philip Levine (b. 1928), U.S. poet. Animals Are Passing from Our Lives (l. 1-4). . .
New Oxford Book of American Verse, The. Richard Ellmann, ed. ...
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''You've gotten in through the transom
and you can't get out
till Monday morning or, worse,
till the cops come.''
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Philip Levine (b. 1928), U.S. poet. To a Child Trapped in a Barber Shop (l. 1-4). . .
New Oxford Book of American Verse, The. Richard Ellmann, ed....
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A Story
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Everyone loves a story. Let's begin with a house.
We can fill it with careful rooms and fill the rooms
with things—tables, chairs, cupboards, drawers
closed to hide tiny beds where children once slept
or big drawers that yawn open to reveal
precisely folded garments washed half to death,
unsoiled, stale, and waiting to be worn out.
There must be a kitchen, and the kitchen
must have a stove, perhaps a big iron one
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Poets
