But what beauty apart from the body:
That mythology dancing to the ground—Parades
Piggybacked on parades
Like roses in the graveyards—
They touch without a sound—lilly-livered,
And poisoned arrowed:
They will be made to do what they can do best:
They will go back to school tomorrow:
They will settle into the west.
And they will do what they can to forget about her:
She was left in pieta in the wagon;
And they will be hung over tomorrow, but they will
Remember where they buried the gold:
It was either next to the ice-cream shop or
Arcadian alley—they will try to remember how she
Touched them, and how much they paid her:
Maybe, they hope, they will be able to get their
Driver’s license to go out to find her,
But after all—and anyways—they were just doing
What they were told.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem