Weldon Kees(1914–1955)
What the Spider Heard
Will there be time for eggnogs and eclogues
In the place where we're going
Said the spider to the fly.
I think not, said the fly.
I think not, sang the chorus.
I think not, said a stranger
W h o mysteriously happened by.
Will they beat me and treat me the way they did here,
In the place where we're going
Asked the spider of the fly.
It is likely, said the fly.
Very likely, sang the chorus.
Extremely likely, said the stranger,
With an eager gleam in his eye.
O, why go there w h e n we know there is nothing there but fear
At this place where we're going
Said the spider to the fly.
What a question! said the fly.
What a question! sang the chorus.
What a question! said the stranger,
Leering slightly at the spider,
Winking slyly at the fly.
For H. V. (1901-1927)
I remember the clumsy surgery: the face
Scarred out of recognition, ruined and not his own.
Wax hands fattened a m o n g pink silk and pinker roses.
The minister was in fine form that afternoon.
I remember the ferns, the organ faintly out of tune,
The gray light, the two extended prayers,
Rain falling on stained glass; the pallbearers,
Selected by the family, and n o n e of t h e m his friends.