Beauty never got over
that weekend she spent with Bacchus
drunk on dago red and,
well, frolicking.
After a while they were eating only fried foods
and not keeping up with the dishes -
leaving them piled dirty on the rocks
grease floating downsteam
(the neighbors, well, they knew)
finally a pair of black eyes and bruised shoulders
convinced her it was time to go,
and she wandered away and wept
but seemed to all who knew her
strange
quiet and dolorous.
Not like her at all.
Beauty, of course, is still beauty
and can be courted.
Only when you get up close
her breath smells a bit of stale wine
and the flesh around her eyes
seems grayish.
James MacFarlane Williams