While I sit there, baiting that poor, unimaginative woman, with a word, that freaky boy is...

Martin Dysart:

While I sit there, baiting that poor, unimaginative woman, with a word, that freaky boy is trying to conjure the reality. I look at pages of centaurs, trampling the soil of Argos and outside my window that boy is trying to become one in a Hampshire field. I sit there, night after night, watching that woman knitting, a woman I haven't kissed in six years! And he stands for an hour in the dark, sucking the sweat off his god's hairy cheek. Then, in the morning, I put away my books on the couch or shelf, close up my Kodachrome snaps of Mount Olympus, touch my reproduction statue of Dionysus, for luck, and go off to the hospital to treat - him - for insanity