Sass: Two Poems Page 2 And you cannot blame them, Though hers only seems The north-northwest variety. There is one story she cannot stop telling, A livid wound that will not close: How she was once bound, robbed, and left for     dead In a quarry by men she thought were friends. It took her a day and a night to crawl out again. "They took everything, everything," she says. "They even took my glasses. They would have taken my false teeth If they'd known about them. Can you believe that?" You do not say so, but you can. At closing time she bids farewell with beery     kisses Delivered with a wet mouth and a tight grip. Then she is off, weaving homeward, alone, Already half-real: A fading stroke of local color In a painting you'll sell your friends. Almost as an afterthought Someone calls out, "Good night, Rosie," And now it is on everyone's lips: "Good night, Rosie, Good night."