Here you will find the Poem Machinist Talking of poet Lesbia Harford
I sit at my machine, Hour long beside me Vera aged nineteen, Babbles her sweet and innocent tale of sex. Her boy, she hopes, will prove Unlike his father in the act of love, Twelve children are too many for her taste. She looks sidelong, blue-eyed And tells a girlish story of a bride With the sweet licence of Arabian queens. Her child, she says, saw light Minute for minute, nine months from the night The mother first lay in her lover?s arms. She says a friend of hers Is a man?s mistress who gives jewels and furs But will not have her soft limbs cased in stays.
