To yonder vale, a borrowing bent.
The younger one was really rather terse,
A thumb depressed, upon the vein, a purse.
When the other did implore his name:
Behold! Stay! A cry! There is no shame.
When roustabouts did thus make move for more
They raped the pretty dandy score for score.
Wrought with ire—breasts-a-fire!—and all in vain,
A stroking hand, 'twould pleasure her again.
-L. James Wright © 2005
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