Labor Day by Louise Gluck
Requiring something lovely on his arm Took me to Stamford, Connecticut, a quasi-farm, His family's; later picking up the mammoth Girlfriend of Charlie, meanwhile trying to pawn me off On some third guy also up for the weekend. But Saturday we still were paired; spent It sprawled across that sprawling acreage Until the grass grew limp with damp. Like me. Johnston-baby, I can still see The pelted clover, burrs' prickle fur and gorged Pastures spewing infinite tiny bells. You pimp.
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