We'd gone about a week before the sight Of fishwhite legs in shorts disgusted us, Stirring our noonday fever-doze; were white Sausages, wet hoglegs, milling in the bright Glassy gas-laden glare beside a dusty bus. Oh, we'd gone about a week before the sight Stopped us cold; but it was enough, and despite Ourselves we chafed with a weird white lust, because Stirring our soft Saharan dreams were white Slick thighs, somehow more obscene than all the tight Or loose nude skin to which we'd been accustomed. But We'd gone about a week before the sight Was there, bored and shameless; and we stared as might Sea-folk at the stockinged calves of conquistadors; Till they'd gone about a week - before the sight Stirring imported fever-dreams gleamed white As innumberable shrill advancing blunderbuss.