Toy

By Jack Joseph Smith

The burned baby on the wooden bed This nineteen year old whore Covering herself with the same dark blue quilt that drapped the springs Stretching the cover of the cloth, so there would be no horror, or care I asked her for her tits, but she said I can't The sex was nothing, bottomless and empty for my second time But the unusual beauty, the outward strength, and deep sorrow of her face stays the same She actually told me to turn my head, while she went to get her wrap Some teen aged black fox, her shape, be telling you that, where there could be nothing better from I stood up off the bed waiting for Toy to come back I was sick, I heard her in the bathroom and worried There she was and we stood there adressing one another Saying things like thanks and how ya doing, and I would love you any time like any other person And then I asked her what was wrong and she told me about the fire and she was then a very intelligent child Would I marry her yes as she took off her gown Earth and God she was devistating I left with her, seeing the crooked lines of her flesh

Original Scan

AI Interpretation

GPT

An uneasy encounter poem in which desire, pity, and damage are inseparable, making intimacy feel exposed and ethically unstable.

The speaker begins by naming Toy's injuries and personal desire, then describes the sex as bottomless and empty "for my second time", without defining the scope of that count. The speaker recalls her beauty and sorrow, being sick, and worrying while hearing her in the bathroom. The speaker hears about the fire and says yes to the prospect of marriage. The speaker leaves with Toy and sees the crooked lines of her flesh.

Claude

'Toy' describes 'The burned baby on the wooden bed / This nineteen year old whore' who covers herself with a 'dark blue quilt', calls the sex 'nothing, bottomless and empty for my second time', and dwells on 'the unusual beauty, the outward strength, / and deep sorrow of her face'. After 'I was sick' and an awkward exchange, she tells him 'about the fire', and the poem ends 'Would I marry her yes as she took off her gown' and 'I left with her, / seeing the crooked lines of her flesh'.

The poem sets a flat, almost reportorial account of a paid encounter against moments of tenderness and unease, and it does not resolve the tension between desire and pity. Handwritten revisions such as 'I was sick' and 'There she was' shift attention to the speaker's own reaction, while the plain typed lines and spellings like 'drapped' and 'devistating' keep a raw, unpolished voice. The marriage line is stated rather than explained, so what the speaker's 'yes' commits to is left open.