A Cloud in Trousers

"I'll come at four," Maria promised.


Eight.

Nine.

Ten.


Then the evening

turned its back on the windows

and plunged into grim night,

scowling

Decemberish.


At my decrepit back

the candelabras guffawed and whinnied.

from
Vladimir Mayakovsky's
A Cloud in Trousers [part 1]