POLICE SERGEANT MALONE
Throat scorched, lips black and your tongue burning;
You have told them all, there is nothing more to say."
But even as I woke, I could not stop:
There were years more to tell
Of misspent childhoods in the sun at Santa Fe,
Or ten days with a duchess on the Matterhorn,
Or minute views of the Louvre from Eiffel Tower,
Bomb-scares in Jermyn Street, tear-gas in Wilhelmstrasse,
Male sleeping beauty contests at Marseille-
All, all were there,
Even to the least detail,
Memories of girls with the India Ocean in their eyes,
And night-breathing oleander in dark hair,
Words flowing from the lips that could not keep still–
Were there five men in that place, or six, or seven
Whispering my life, or theirs?
I did not know,
I knew only that a phosphorescent, blue-lighted river
Coursed through my veins, that I must talk as if forever
Of everything I had done, or hoped to do.
It was no wonder my recovery was slow,
That I enlisted to begin my life again, to leave the city.
I have heard artillery encourages silence among men–
If
they sing, dance, shout or whisper, it does not matter,
The guns speak for them and the sirens blow-
The service leaves no mysteries unsolved;
I have volunteered,
and I am wild to go.
501
