Deceptions

Deceptions

-  Philip Larkin

"Of course I was drugged, and so heavily I did not regain

consciousness until the next morning.  I was horrified to

discover that I had been ruined, and for some days I was inconsolable,

and cried like a child to be killed or sent back to my aunt."

 --Mayhew, London Labour and the London Poor

Even so distant, I can taste the grief,

Bitter and sharp with stalks, he made you gulp.

The sun's occasional print, the brisk brief

Worry of wheels along the street outside

Where bridal London bows the other way,

And light, unanswerable and tall and wide,

Forbids the scar to heal, and drives

Shame out of hiding.  All the unhurried day,

Your mind lay open like a drawer of knives.

Slums, years, have buried you.  I would not dare

Console you if I could.  What can be said,

Except that suffering is exact, but where

Desire takes charge, readings will grow erratic?

For you would hardly care

That you were less deceived, out on that bed,

Than he was, stumbling up the breathless stair

To burst into fulfillment's desolate attic.