Classic Poem

This is the time of year
when boys fifteen and seventeen
wear two horned lilac blossoms
in their caps — or over one ear

What is it that does this?

It is a certain sort —
drivers for grocers or taxidrivers
white and colored —

fellows that let their hair grow long
in a curve over one eye —

Horned purple

Dirty satyrs, it is
vulgarity raised to the last power

They have stolen them
broken the bushes apart
with a curse for the owner —

Lilacs —

They stand in the doorways
on the business streets with a sneer
on their faces

adorned with blossoms

Out of their sweet heads
dark kisses — rough faces