1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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