(in memoriam Stevie Smith, 1902-1971)
Little is a hard word
to begin with.
Like Jones, or Smith,
prepare to be
bored.
Silly, as a coat of arms
on which the charms
of raging tigerish swarms
put us in unsmiling mind
of a tyrant Maltese
dipped liberally in
gold.
White’s a better word,
more pure, more shaved,
without bristle and unfurred,
enslaved almost to
nought.
Little white dog
that bows and wows
while spinning like a
dervish drunk with
desire.