Rachel Poem by James Munro

Eliot preferred the world of
Virgil, I the world of Homer,
which is why he settled in London,
why I chose to be a roamer:
he preferred the drawing-room, I
firelit marble on the beach,
he fruit cocktail, I to rinse
dust off the skin of a dusty peach or
bunch of grapes, a dark-eyed witch,
a princess washing in a stream,
a road to follow, rosy-fingered
dawn like one last lovely dream
at the end of a night spent in a ditch.
He shared his tastes with Bleistein, I
with Rachel née Rabinovitch.