Sep 1967 • Vol. XXIX No. 4 Department KR: A Section of Briefer Comment |

A Poet’s Private Zoo

Being a random exhibit of some specimens therein; what in them is curious or strikingly common. And all with the reservation, of course, that the poet, or keeper, is the chief captive of his own menagerie. THE LACKEY To hunger, all things are possible. Hunger is king. What haven't I done for hunger? Begged, betrayed, played the fool . . . and worse. For instance, there was the day I kissed that old harridan's hand. She was disgusting, but what could I do? I had to kiss her hand; there was no way out. The expression on her face was one of suffering, bored resignation. Her hand had been kissed so many times, and now once again she must submit to the ritual duty of having it put to the gummy lips of another slobbering servitor, accept without even the luxury of open disdain my eager, doggish fumbling. She extended her withered hand, and I took it in mine. I bent over, cradling it in my sweating palms. An old hand, the old hand of an old hag, to be kissed. I looked at it wi

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Mississippi

By James P. Degnan

Being a random exhibit of some specimens therein; what in them is curious or strikingly common. And all with the reservation, of course, that the poet, or keeper, is the […]

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