The Parents.
Now I would say the fancier of my goods
had better be aware of second hand other decades.
By the river of murder, the woods
are airy green and close by lies the tilled land.
The water is ageless, in pools the sandy bottom may be seen.
In a dream the young girl and the impeccable young man
strolled with a wicker basket slung between.
He has given her an umbrella.
Do you believe he held her in the river till she drowned?
Her wan smile wavers with the water's wave.
I have seen it in pictures. My mother found
the deed intolerable.
She said it many times.
In her solid flesh and convincing smile,
she held the elements of weeping.
She pilfered the young man's heinous crimes. In the night
I waked to his snores from a death's sleeping.
In the bodies of comfortable middle age one sets
the tombstones of children.
I would have them die this way by the river
without the sadness and broken veins of a mounting rage.