1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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