Together, into opposition,
Back together, swing and glider
Pendulum the idle dark.
Impatient fly and patient spider,
Now, we truce the long attrition
Porch no longer parlor, stark
Pursuit slowed in the slowing arc.
To each late wilderness, meet manna.
Unemployed, except as roomer,
I will not refuse that bit,
Or fault such you as I must humor.
In your hair the dye is henna;
In your dress the dye is Rit. I
n all your house, the air is Flit.
If later, near the Negro houses,
Rags and rubber tires burn nightly,
Will their truer pesticide, blown here,
Clear off this porch completely?
And who, beyond that smoke, supposes
How, the swatter laid aside,
The hands seek on, the kill has died.
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