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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  Max Michelson

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

A Petit Bourgeois

Max Michelson

From “Masks”

SHARP nails grow out from your fat fingers;

Over your clean-shaven lip glimmers the moustache of a tom-cat.

Your smiles are investments at a hundred per-cent.

Yet one has only one life, one mouth, one stomach, and can take only one woman at a time;

Also, when you were younger, before you knew,

You foolishly allowed suffering to reach your heart.

So your face sometimes contorts wistfully—

You use this sanctimoniously to deceive.