Classic Poem

From Polter's smirk I know his soul as well
As if I'd seen it in a stagnant pool:
A gray curled shred that wavers in such cool
Dead slime as crawls and wrinkles 'neath the swell
Of a blotched lizard's belly ... a tentacle
Wherewith some monster hidden deep and dim
May cup and suck green poisons down to him,
A charnel devil in his muddy hell.

For Polter is a kind of tube, a pipe,
A dribbling conduit through which slander flows ...
He has a loose mouth coloured like stewed tripe
And a queer, dead-looking, pocked and pitted nose; —
Even on Sunday, when the plate he passes,
He sniffs salt scandal in the Bible classes.

Loathing this world of nettles, sin, and grime,
Dade likewise loathes the thought of bettering
The unfortunate planet, he'll not fling
His virtue into any fight with crime.
Dade is so nice he itches all the time;
His moral hide's so very thin (poor thing!)
That all his contacts burn the man and sting: —
He's like a boil that nears its golden prime.

When Dade goes up to Heaven — he will; he's prayerful —
I trust no cruder saint will jolly him;
I trust the Lord will say; " Be very careful,
And don't shock Dade, you rough-necked Cherubim! "
Lay him away in cotton wool, O God!
Eternally, as something rare and odd.