Notice how he has numbered the blue veins
in my breast. Moreover there are ten freckles.
Now he goes left. Now he goes right.
He is building a city, a city of flesh.
He's an industrialist. He has starved in cellars
and, ladies and gentlemen, he's been broken by iron,
by the blood, by the metal, by the triumphant
iron of his mother's death. But he begins again.
Now he constructs me. He is consumed by the city.
>From the glory of words he has built me up.
>From the wonder of concrete he has molded me.
He has given me six hundred street signs.
The time I was dancing he built a museum.
He built ten blocks when I moved on the bed.
He constructed an overpass when I left.
I gave him flowers and he built an airport.
For traffic lights he handed at red and green
lollipops. Yet in my heart I am go children slow.
Anne Sexton's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Mr. Mine by Anne Sexton )
Did you read them?
- What Am I?, Curtlan Popo
- When Blue turns to Red, Aftab Alam
- Who Blows The Bubbles?, Curtlan Popo
- Life, Geometry's Whisper, Aeronius D. McCoy
- On Life's Behest,, Aftab Alam
- Holloween Party, Narayana Raghavan
- The Vulture, Curtlan Popo
- Plenty Thirst Century, Curtlan Popo
- A Damp Bathroom Wall Speaks To You, Narayana Raghavan
- Why I'm You, Curtlan Popo
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
- Heather Burns