Dover Butch

David Biespiel

This cliff-side is true and ruthless and dependable-
What all the pundits say is right: you can dabble
With love, you can plead, but the bitter, etc., isn't lucrative.
The bitter, etc., is borrowed, marriageable. And the waves
Don't sound any more mournful than a woman-
Besides all the perfumed armies are so grumpy and wan
And blotto you'd think they couldn't keep up with their Sophocles
Even at a snail's pace-such dense, ancient sadness.
Yes, faith must be called to, fat with spray and misery,
Though nothing there is crumbling. Sure, I can channel the calm sea
So that the moon is my darling, my orbit, my omphalo-
And yet it's nothing to get rattled by. Try humming at a window.
Such is this children's game, such is this mother's tongue.
Who says my girdle's too tight? My heart is flung.