John Berryman: Все стихи поэта

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What is the boy now, who has lost his ball,

What, what is he to do? I saw it go

Merrily bouncing, down the street, and then

Merrily over—there it is in the water!

No use to say 'O there are other balls':

An ultimate shaking grief fixes the boy

As he stands rigid, trembling, staring down

All his young days into the harbour where

A spot of poontang on a five-foot piece,

Diminutive, but room enough . . like clay

To finger eager on some torrid day . .

Who'd throw her black hair back, and hang, and tease.

Never, not once in all one's horny lease

To'have had a demi-lay, a pretty, gay,

Snug, slim and supple-breasted girl for play . .

She bats her big, warm eyes, and slides like grease.