While Tennessee Williams is best-known for such plays as A Streetcar Named Desire and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, he was also a poet. This is a poem I just discovered. It reminds me of the lazy summers days that are coming soon…

The Wine-Drinkers
by

Tennessee Williams

The wine-drinkers sit on the porte cochère in the sun.
Their lack of success in love has made them torpid.

They move their fans with a motion that stirs no feather,
the glare of the sun has darkened their complexions.

Let us commend them on their conversations.
One says “oh” and the other says “indeed.”

The afternoon must be prolonged forever, because the night
will be impossible for them.

They know that the bright and very delicate needles
inserted beneath the surfaces of their skins
will work after dark–at present are drugged, are dormant.

Nobody dares to make any sudden disturbance.

One says “no,” the other one murmurs “why?”
The cousins pause: tumescent.

What do they dream of? Murder?
They dream of lust and they long for violent action
but none occurs.

Their quarrels perpetually die from a lack of momentum
The light is empty: the sun forestalls reflection.

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