The prince leans to the girl in scarlet heels,
Her green eyes slant, hair flaring in a fan
Of silver as the rondo slows; now reels
Begin on tilted violins to span.
A Birthday Present
What is this, behind this veil, is it ugly, is it beautiful?
It is shimmering, has it breasts, has it edges?
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white