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THE FIRE SERMON III pt IX of The Waste Land cycle by Joel Sattler, TS Eliot

Alternate title: I TIRESIAS I

when the eyes and back
at the violet hour
turn up from the desk
when human engine waits

like a taxi throbbing
I Tiresias I
blind between two lives
old man full of hate

with wrinkled female breasts
can see the evening hour a thing
that strives with every power to bring
the sailor home from the sea

I Tiresias I
was a woman once

the typist home for tea
clears the breakfast lights
the stove and lays
out tins for food that night

the sun dries out the wash
her stocking piled on couch
that midnight is her bed
the window she looks out

I Tiresias I
I foretold the rest

the half expected guest
a small house agent clerk
has come in silky hat
to get a piece of work

the time is right he guessed
the meal is done and gone
she bored and tired one
the undesired caress

he takes her in assault
encounters no defense
but he needs no response
welcomes indifference

and I Tiresias I
have foresuffered all
enacted on this bed
sat Thebes upon the wall
and walked among the lowest
lowest of the dead

he patronizes kiss
and gropes his way outside
she turns and sees the glass
and over is the ride

her brain allows to pass
this one half formed last thought
"well now that's done so fast
I'm glad it's over ought"

when woman is a fool
and stops to folly lone
she smoothes her hair a tool
and plays the gramophone

and I Tiresias old
twas all as I foretold

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