Are you happy, Daisy
with your voice all full of money
and your golden locks blowing?
Do you hide your face
embarrassed by Tom's racist harangues
while seeking comfort in the embrace
of your careless, noble friends?
Have you ever seen shirts
as nice as these or suits so pink
and glimmering of tea cakes
and novelty on sweltering Manhattan
gilded ash-worn evenings?
Are you happy now sauntering
through inconsequence adrift in moonlight
and forgetful of your maiden promises
as the air sweeps over that fragile
crown and you swerve drunkenly
about lane to lane letting me
face the consequences worrying
only about you?
The inebriation is mine alone to bear.
That's all I want for you,
the dignified Mrs. Buchanan—
as a moth I fly toward green flame,
enamored—remembering your smile
& eyes as they were!
My heart's last beats are for you,
and I just want to know you're happy
as the transparent water that drowns me
warms and grows turbid like America
and my selfish love.