God how I hated that peremptory head!
As through the ether came his sickening drawl
“Now this won’t hurt.... Oh, it won’t hurt at all.”
THE TRAPEZE PERFORMER
(For C. M.)
Fierce little bombs of gleam snap from his spangles,
Sleek flames glow softly on his silken tights,
The waiting crowd blurs to crude darks and whites
Beneath the lamps that stare like savage bangles;
Safe in a smooth and sweeping arc he dangles