Tuesday, September 17, 2019

Tuesday Poem: "The Mixed Marriage" by Paul Muldoon


My father was a servant-boy.
When he left school at eight or nine

He took up billhook and loy

To win the ground he would never own.


My mother was the school-mistress,

The world of Castor and Pollux.

There were twins in her own class.

She could never tell which was which.


She had read one volume of Proust,

He knew the cure for farcy.

I flitted between a hole in the hedge

And a room in the Latin Quarter.


When she had cleared the supper-table

She opened 
The Acts of the Apostles,
Aesop’s Fables, Gulliver’s Travels
.
Then my mother went on upstairs


And my father further dimmed the light

To get back to hunting with ferrets

Or the factions of the faction-fights,

The Ribbon Boys, the Caravats.

by Paul Muldoon


For more information about the poet, Paul Muldoon, see:


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