Valentine to a Blackguard

Southern Review, The, Spring, 2006 by Seth Abramson

Valentine to a Blackguard

                           For which coins I
   would ballot for your man, and not mine; sweep
   the fire holes of a northern city
                     and take rounds in the spleen
   at distant ports of call. For whom I have left off
   my better sense
           of a better life, flocked to ogres of bright
   light, where shine and stink and sound
   are the three messengers of the city, insensible
   emissaries
           for the hope of so many men here
   in night and wilderness disquieted
           to find in themselves this only.
                           For which life I
   would gladly forget first kisses on a country rick,
   first lovers who are waiting
           and for whom I will never arrive,
   dark streams which are so temperate they cannot
           any longer stay lovely in my memory.