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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=571846" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>She Just Doesn't Care</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My dogs fight in a box car of make believe children; <br>They nock them down like weather-beaten bowling pins; <br>What am I doing in this city, <br>With the river so near but not fearful; and yet the correct<br>English of this is appalling, <br>Like a fisherman unconcerned there is no bottom: <br>How will we get to the floor to sleep, <br>And looking at the phrases critically, as if you are supposed<br>To interview them for a job: They are paltry at best<br>They haven’t worked for ages, and who have they loved? <br>How many other words have they known laid down beside<br>Them to keep warm after some such and such midnight? <br>Their vocabulary is poor. Skin. Teeth. All poor; its diseases-<br>Not fit for mermaids, those topless dancers like selkies <br>Inciting barfights: And I’m sure I loved her: I sent her bouquets, <br>But why is the sky blue? The bad news can go on forever<br>And the fountain of youth is not real: All the conquistadors laid<br>To rest beside it are so old and unexciting, they put the tourists<br>Into a gummy eyed malaria; it is their disease. Cheap candles<br>Are more exciting, open wounds along the bromeliad, <br>The lizards who change colors along with the warts; and if the<br>Sea is weeping, it is because she has lost her billfold and that<br>Is why she goes back and forth sweeping across the middle-<br>Class lights of a moribund holocaust, sweeping as if though<br>Homely she might cradle inchoate beauty, <br>But she just doesn’t care.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Bret+R.+Crabrooke">Bret R. Crabrooke</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=571846" data-title="She Just Doesn't Care de Bret R. Crabrooke" data-description="My dogs fight in a box car of make believe children; 
They nock them down like weather-beaten bowling pins; 
What am I doing in this city, 
With the river so near but not fearful; and yet the correct
English of this is appalling, 
Like a fisherman..."></div>
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