Her heaving embonpoint—
Boom he was misnomed
Any others I shall tell you? Do you
Live alone he asked? I do said she.
And it is often that I wonder what is
An embonpoint? And who
Has more or lives more?
Who heaves in her embon?
Who lives on his jambon
Haut? What with our scars
And all, each according to his
Embonpoint—that’s the point.
He’s got the pig by the ankles
All hocked up. The good meat
She can not keep down, crouching
Below the window to smell the sky,
To heave her hocks en bon point of fact
And it is all we ever dream—to be
On the outside, each in his own box
Looking for the point where
Our point is made. I live alone.
He lives with others. We all live
Indoors crouched beneath the pane.