Larkin, Philip. Myxomatosis. (From The Less Deceived.)

Caught in the centre of a soundless field
While hot inexplicable hours go by
What trap is this? Where were its teeth concealed?
You seem to ask.
I make a sharp reply,
Then clean my stick. I'm glad I can't explain
Just in what jaws you were to suppurate:
You may have thought things would come right again
If you could only keep quite still and wait.

(This man - this nerdy, bitter man who was probably quite unpleasant in real life - this man makes me want to grab people's shirtfronts and demand they read his poems. This man makes me read very quietly, and with close concentration, so as to feel each poem unfold in my mind. This man's sensuous clarity, his cold perception, his brief dry twists of humour - joy is not too strong a word for what they give me.)