Lowell weighed two-hundred. Three solid years
Of weights took me to only one-eighty-seven,
But aside from his modes I might
Be the stronger: less influenced
By family, no noblesse oblige
But entering the Marine Corps
While he objected conscientiously --
No doubt frightening more
But I never mastered madness
Nor drinking nor smoking incessantly
And my heart is still sound
While his gave out in a New York taxi;
Yet he to hear him was a professional
While I he would say am an amateur:
Quite right. Writing at night
Because I like to but not needing
To push my words upon a disinterested
World or influence a coterie
Of suicidal children taking classes
Under my care. Caring will destroy
The joy of writing for those not Lowell.
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