We should not forget that wonderful poem by Austinite, the late Thomas Whitbread, titled GLUTTON:
Into the flaming peach she sped,
Passing through fastness of flesh
Down juicy channels. Her red head
Turned regularly, like a worm’s,
Hale in its element of fire.
She met the fruit of its own terms.
She tunneled into its embrace
And sank her teeth into its flesh
Utterly heedless of disgrace.
Then, when her seeking mouth had reached
Its cold, hard core, she smiled like fire,
So full, so fully self-impeached.
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Thorne Webb Dreyer, Editor
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