Moist, moist, <br />the heat leaking through the hinges, <br />sun baking the roof like a pie <br />and I and thou and she <br />eating, working, sweating, <br />droned up on the heat. <br />The sun as read as the cop car siren. <br />The sun as red as the algebra marks. <br />The sun as red as two electric eyeballs. <br />She wanting to take a bath in jello. <br />You and me sipping vodka and soda, <br />ice cubes melting like the Virgin Mary. <br />You cutting the lawn, fixing the machines, <br />all this leprous day and then more vodka, <br />more soda and the pond forgiving our bodies, <br />the pond sucking out the throb. <br />Our bodies were trash. <br />We leave them on the shore. <br />I and thou and she <br />swim like minnows, <br />losing all our queens and kinds, <br />losing our hells and our tongues, <br />cool, cool, all day that Sunday in July <br />when we were young and did not look <br />into the abyss, <br />that God spot.<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fury-of-sundays/
