The old poet writes that
Lesbia peels men in the back alleys
And readers have known the peeling for
A thing done before the cock crows
And perhaps it is
A drier and less common trick
Turned for a butcher's fee
Paid for a piece of rump roast
Or bone-in ham
But perhaps it is
A thing done less happily
Not so much opening the satyr's gift where
The package will be tucked away again
But
A split in the wrapping that
Lets a different fluid flow that
Life demands
Because the hand is not all that tears
With too much rubbing on it
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