Poem of the week: by Bill Direen

Line 31, Gare de l’Est, Paris
"Before verse can be human again it must learn to be brutal."
— John Synge (the very words I was reading when she boarded)

In the hollow of a crowded bus
The whore’s bare arms and legs glowing;
A rich stench like blood, alcohol,
and tincture mixed with sweat,
Hers, and that of others:

Possessed again and again
By visions of one who had just abused her,
She spat Chadic curses
Into the silent crowd of commuters

Who all understood.

The dying whore of Ethiopia,
The stink of her hard pleasing in my adenoids!
Here, now, John Synge, the poetry
I underwent
And fled!

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