Your hosts are almost glad he gate-crashed: see, How his eyes brighten on the whisky, how his wit Tumbles the company like a lightning stroke -
You marvel where he gets his energy from ...
But that same instant, here, far underground, This fusty carcass stirs its shroud and swells.
'Stop, stop, oh for God's sake, stop!' you shriek As your tears run down, but he goes on and on Mercilessly till you think your ribs must crack
While this carcass's eyes grimace, stitched In the cramp of an ordeal, and a squeeze of blood Crawls like scorpions into its hair.
You plead, limp, dangling in his mad voice, till With a sudden blood-spitting cough,
he chokes: he leaves
Trembling, soon after.
You slump back down in a chair Cold as a leaf, your heart scarcely moving...
Deep under the city's deepest stone This grinning sack is bursting with your blood.
Ted Hughes
