XII.

30. One Step Ahead of the Yips. Oh let me see and live to tell Of funnelets and typhoon swell; I want to pick at wines and cheeses And watch the world be dashed to pieces. Abetted by the gale ensuing I'll vent the anger in me stewing And in this natural maleström I'll wait with very little qualm; How gracious of the gods to please Me, washing out my enemies, Justly thwacking all the wrists Of bullies who deserve my fists. Why seek them out with fork & ax? My solace lies in cataracts. 31. To think that as I sip my beverage Mistrals and torrents are my leverage. And in this furious rushing breeze My soul will find vindictive peace — The cops who scribble on their pads Are sorrier, albeit busy lads Who could have been my friends, enjoyed These fruits and wines: instead, a void Engulfs them, they get blown and wetter, They mutter "we wish we'd never met her! Forgo these beastly sticky wickets And we'll fix all your traffic tickets." 32. It is too late. Upon this ledge I wave my wand, my bonnet sedge, And point out sites of interest That tree, that house, abaft southwest. I push off little Pugnator, Into the howls and deafening roar And in the eye of whirling calm I lift myhand and read my palm A dazzling draft about me eddies Pulling down quays and masts & jetties All are frightened — none come near us, My boat, my Foole, and I, Queen Learess. 33. This morning dawned. I think I dreamed Such terrible fancies. Yet it seemed That on the lawn were trunks and twigs As though a huge barrage of pigs Had trammeled through. My lights are out. I feel sheepish, like a lout; The whole Northeast is leveled— pommeled— wrecked! I really must learn to keep my temper checked.