Douglas Dunn
The Distraction
He was corrupted by a bad girl on
A swing, who swung out from a canvas made
By Fragonard. It hardly matters when;
But he was young. Her skirt rose, she displayed
Her pretty ankles, and, half-satisfaction!
Her Louis Quinze drawers. If some young men
Preferred Playboy and short stories with tits,
He didn’t care. He’d found his jouissance,
His garden where the real world broke in bits
Outside an ecstasy of grass and shade,
His Cythera, his island of the rakes
And libertines where love makes no mistakes.
Well, he was young; he thought he had it made —
Cette chanson d’amour qui toujours recommence.
Page(s) 24
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