This poem is taken from PN Review 58, Volume 14 Number 2, November - December 1987.
Friends and Not FriendsAs we reach our bivvy, just rejoice
that all the things about us are
simplex and integer. Pair after pair,
those crisp-winged wild duck take the air
in neat domestic bliss; and the rate of growth
of the meadow-grass? Zero in winter.
So, creep out of the wind, squat here, pour
two glasses, one for each. Then cards:
...
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