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Anthony Hecht - The End Of The Weekend

A dying firelight slides along the quirt
Of the cast iron cowboy where he leans
Against my father's books. The lariat
Whirls into darkness. My girl in skin tight jeans
Fingers a page of Captain Marriat
Inviting insolent shadows to her shirt.

We rise together to the second floor.
Outside, across the lake, an endless wind
Whips against the headstones of the dead and wails
In the trees for all who have and have not sinned.
She rubs against me and I feel her nails.
Although we are alone, I lock the door.

The eventual shapes of all our formless prayers:
This dark, this cabin of loose imaginings,
Wind, lip, lake, everything awaits
The slow unloosening of her underthings
And then the noise. Something is dropped. It grates
against the attic beams. I climb the stairs
Armed with a belt.

A long magnesium shaft
Of moonlight from the dormer cuts a path
Among the shattered skeletons of mice.
A great black presence beats its wings in wrath.
Above the boneyard burn its golden eyes.
Some small grey fur is pulsing in its grip.

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Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 656 times | Comments and analysis of The End Of The Weekend by Anthony Hecht Comments (1)

The End Of The Weekend - Comments and Information

Poet: Anthony Hecht
Poem: The End Of The Weekend
Poem of the Day: Apr 18 2012

Comment 1 of 1, added on February 16th, 2009 at 8:30 AM.

such sadness feels my heart with the depression that you have within your heart. Do not dream of death but turn your eyes away and advert your attention to the true words of god as untouched by man. whatever complex you are dealing with numerous people have been down your path. please reach out and talk to someone and do not take your life. CALL and ask for help 1-800-522-Teen.

jennifer from United States

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