On the balcony I observe the gentle demoiselles
baffled by boys, the clean-cheeked swells.
The sentimental girls cannot help having seizures of the breast
toggled by the suave lads, the brusque conspicuous chest.
I recede into my chamber, rankled to the core;
the chaste existence of the unattractive is a bore.
Unable to induce swooning, one has difficulty with women,
one spends often the wistful unproductive hour,
although, in other realms: politics, finance, warfare, then
for the ugly man there is power.
St-Lambert, circa 1983.