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Most Women Are Dull and Stupid

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I examine the figures and the boy, and Holt asks,

As if expecting me to have changed my mind,

"And are you still determined to go down the pit?"

Foolish question. Squished into a coal cart, I ride

The rail, smacking my head once, and then the lad

Behind me says belatedly, "Mind your head, mister."

 

But I rise above it, as we glide lower into darkness.

I think, again, of Ann's idea about music on trains,

And I think again, I should always want fiddlers

To play a jig to keep up with my always moving

Body and my always-moving mind. Down here,

I can imagine digging money out of the hills

 

Hand over fist, imagine not constantly chasing

After someone with more per year <though that

Would be the part that wouldn't matter, the fortune,

If they could dig me my own from my land, and I

Could focus on simply finding someone with whom

I shared tastes, with whom I could share my evenings>.