Look here, sir. There she stands as if alive --
my barren girl with the small hips and flesh
of Allach porcelain, the brownest eyes
I ever pickled. Her pose I modeled after
the pure white forms of Greco-Roman sculpture,
though her expression I could not efface --
the eyes a bit too wide, the mouth still saying,
"What are you doing, Doctor? What's that needle?"
Still, she's a beauty. I get lonely sometimes,
walled in here with the starving prisoners
and drunken guards; she keeps me company
and lets me talk, is never bored of me;
we have such conversations! But I see
you grow impatient. Do excuse me, sir --
the operating room is right this way.
Have you brought chocolates for my twins? How kind!