1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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