THE FOURSOME by E.A. WHITEHEAD
Down from the waist they are Centaurs, Though women all above-But to the girdle do the gods inherit Beneath is all the fiends 'There 'shell, there's darkness, there is the sulphurous pit, Burning, scalding, stench consumption; fie, fie, fie! pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination. —King Lear
Down through the centuries, no civet has been found to sweeten the toxic war between the sexes. Every seeming peace is breached: no cease-fire is ever signed. Perhaps that is why the theme...
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