Classic Poem

On the counter were red slabs and rolls of beef. Bolognas hung along the walls and from the ceiling.
He carried his sliced bologna and two cents worth of bread to a table.
She came in and flung her muff upon the table, almost upon his bread.
Waiting to be served, she stood in front of the mirror,
smoothing her dress over her hips, curving her arms to her hair, stretching herself.
She sat down facing him, smiled, and soon they were talking.
When she had gobbled her food, he gave her some of his.
He was through and still he sat there, warming himself at her quick beauty.
He had but to ask and he knew that she would come along.
He arose and went out. He walked down the street slowly, asking himself if he wasn't a fool.