ladies and gentlemen this little girl

with the good teeth and small important breasts

(is it the Frolic or the Century whirl?

one's memory indignantly protests)

this little dancer with the tightened eyes

crisp ogling shoulders and the ripe quite too

large lips always clenched faintly, wishes you

with all her fragile might to not surmise

she dreamed one afternoon

. . . . or maybe read?

of a time when the beautiful most of her

(this here and This, do you get me?)

will maybe dance and maybe sing and be

abslatively posolutely dead,

like Coney Island in winter