How can I rub you without getting splinters,
O small, crudely made box containing letters,
or how can I lacquer you effectively, or later
wax and polish you to a finish hard as winter?
I cannot begin to say how much I love to shine
boxes, to make them like the eyes of little girls,
glossy and full of glances, reflective of pearls,
pink things, lipstick, mirrored in a lustrous grain.
Alice comes home with her arms full of wicker
imports and casts a glance my way, as if to say,
I know that's a rough-hewn container, then sighs
and shakes out her umbrella, peels off her slicker.