THE TRUE CONFESSION OF GEORGE BARKER
She knows her beauties now belong
With every other treasure of her
Past and future, to her lover:
But the babies work out wrong.
I see the bridegroom in his splendor
Rolling like an unbridled stallion,
Handsome, powerful and tender,
And passionate as an Italian–
And nothing I could say would lend a
Shock of more surprise and pride
Than if I said that young rapscallion
Was necking with
his
legal bride.
I knew a beautiful courtesan
Who, after service, would unbosom
Her prettier memories, like blossom,
At the feet of the weary man:
"I am such a sensitive protoplasm,"
She whispered, when I was not there,
"That I experience an orgasm
If
I
touch
a millionaire."
Lying with, about, upon,
Everything and everyone,
Every happy little wife
Miscegenates once in a life,
And every pardonable groom
Needs, sometimes, a change of womb,
Because, although damnation may be,
Society needs every baby.
It takes a sacrament to keep
Any man and woman together:
Birds of a forgiveable feather
Always flock and buck together;
And in our forgiveable sleep
What birdwatcher will know whether
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