And a small Dalmatian.
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n your house, the main house, you were better off. You had a rose garden and a guest cottage and a model apothecary shopAnd a cook and a maid, and knew about the key to the bourbon. I remember you playing “Ja-Da” in a pink piqué dress On the game-room piano, when the “big people” were out, And the maid smoked and shot pool under a green-shaded lamp. The cook had one walleye and couldn’t sleep, she was so nervous. On trial, from Ireland, she burned batch after batch of cookiesTill she was fired. O what has come over us, my sister! On that day-off the two of us cried so hard to get We lifted a sugared ham and a pineapple from the grownups’ iceboxAnd rented an old green boat. I rowed. You read Aloud, cross-legged on the stern seat, from the Generation of Vipers.So we bobbed out to the island. It was deserted— A gallery of creaking porches and still interiors, Stopped and awful as a photograph of somebody laughing,
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