Classic Poem

You sit there talking to him
You whose body underneath the tailored suit
And underneath the pink silk underwear
That clings to your china flesh
Is cosy and soft and rose-white
Light out of silken lamp-shades
You whose body is there
a lit flower
I know why you laugh
As if you were white water tumbling
into a Chinese lake
Around which night has spun shadows
like great bronze gongs
Do you believe I don't know
you are a thin white china cup
I put my lips against
As if it were tea I wanted or the color of tea

You doubt I am a poet
Well
I butter my toast and put jam over the edges
Until I can see only the orchestra
pussywillows in a strong wind
The greased elbow of the violin
I see too
You over there
rustling your newspaper
And watching me out of the corner of your eyes
YOU would know how to drown kittens
And persuade children to eat bread and butter
when they wanted cake
YOU are certain to be promoted into what your wife prays for
O and I see you too
Restlessly fingering your instruments between numbers
I know who is waiting for you
white and dark
Like the flower in the wooden box on my window-sill
I know
I am a poet
And I know what the waiters are saying
As they clear away the corks and empty bottles