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They change again.

This is the mark of a man
who's got wit and brains and
has sailed around the block a few times:
to roll himself over
to the prospering side
rather than stand like
a graven image, taking a single position.
But to change
for the softer
is the mark of a clever man,
a true Theramenes.

Wouldn't this be a laugh, if
Xanthias, my slave, upturned on
Milesian blankets,
kissing his dancing girl,
asked me for a chamber pot,
and I, looking right at him,
grabbed his cucumber,
and he, being a bully himself,
saw me, and socked me on the jaw
with his fist, knocking out
my front row teeth.

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