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When Mr.
Apollinax visited the United States
His laughter
tinkled among the teacups.
I thought of Fragilion,
that shy figure among the birch-trees,
And of Priapus
in the shrubbery
Gaping at the lady in the swing.
In the palace of Mrs. Phlaccus, at Professor
Channing-Cheetah's
He laughed like an irresponsible
foetus.
Otis laughter was submarine and profound
Like the old man of the sea's
Hidden under coral
islands
Where worried bodies of drowned men drift
down in the green silence,
Dropping from fingers of
surf.
I looked for the head of Mr. Apollinax rolling
under a chair
Or grinning over a screen
With
seaweed in its hair.
I heard the beat of centaur's
hoofs over the hard turf
As his dry and passionate
talk devoured the afternoon.
"He is a charming
man"--"But after all what did he mean?"--
"His
pointed ears ... He must be unbalanced,"--
"There was
something he said that I might have challenged."
Of
dowager Mrs. Phlaccus, and Professor and Mrs. Cheetah
I remember a slice of lemon, and a bitten macaroon.
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