The Party

The obscene hostess, mincing in the hall, Gathers the guests around a crystal ball. It is on the whole an exciting moment; Mrs. Lefevre stares with her one good eye; A friendly abdomen rubs against one’s back; “Interesting,” a portly man is heard to sigh. A somewhat unconvincing oriental leers Redundantly; into the globe he peers, Mutters a word or two and stands aside. The glass grows cloudy with sulphorous fumes; Beads rattle, latecomers giggle near the door. A scene forms in the glass; silence invades the rooms. The oriental glances up, conceals surprise At such immediate success. Our eyes Stare at the planes that fill the swelling globe, Smoke-blue; blood, shelltorn faces. Suddenly a drum Begins its steady beat, pursues us even here: Death, and death again, and all the wars to come.