Peter's not friendly. He gives me sideways looks. <br />The architecture is far from reassuring. <br />I feel uneasy. <br />A pity,—the interview began so well: <br />I mentioned fiendish things, he waved them away <br />and sloshed out a martini <br /> <br />strangely needed. We spoke of indifferent matters— <br />God's health, the vague hell of the Congo, <br />John's energy, <br />anti-matter matter. I felt fine. <br />Then a change came backward. A chill fell. <br />Talk slackened, <br /> <br />died, and began to give me sideways looks. <br />'Chirst,' I thought 'what now?' and would have askt for another <br />but didn't dare. <br />I feel my application failing. It's growing dark, <br />some other sound is overcoming. His last words are: <br />'We betrayed me.'<br /><br />John Berryman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dream-song-55-peter-s-not-friendly-he-gives-me-s/
