We know what civilization is:
Routines, friendships, small pleasures.
Rusty R. Smith enjoyed a cigarette
The way another man would enjoy
A thousand virgins.
Rusty had the occasional doughnut.
Perhaps he was gay, perhaps he wasn’t.
Rusty drank his coffee black; he liked good restaurants,
Smiling; no sex. Dead at fifty one,
He enjoyed the chatty, fatty, easy life
Of affable politics and work.
Democracy is one virgin per man,
And quite often, none;
One is not allowed to have a thousand.
But in some places one can,
And this fucks things up totally.
