Jorge Jameson The Centaur at Dusk For M.S.   Is it the way you are Surprising in predictable ways, That she can arrange you In her head with familiar things? With confidence and unaware of self You can do anything well, Even plundering thoughts and words, Or raping the Sabines, Even repeating yourself, even poetry.   We all love your childish tantrums, As we recognize the cunning Of our parents in what you are not. But you are growing old, And the ways you comb your hide Are growing more bizarre, to us, Proud of our two feet.   Centaur, When I said you need a stage, You told me she told you the same When you were in bed with her. I said she was a nice catch but didn’t know if she was a keeper And you wrote it down so you wouldn’t forget it.

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