Posted: November 6, 2015 in Chat
Tags: , , ,


I was the new louche lover
of a wealthy lady, young still; her husband
filthy with family money.
Seduced her discreetly in front of all,
her husband seeing business only.

Scene two, and already
my undertones sly, heavy with allure
but  generous with praise
to entertain wife and husband seperately.
Then two pan-handlers
suddenly on stage. Quickly we adjusted,
improvising –
now two young movie hopefuls,
their idea quite compelling:
a giant ape and a helpless lady,
an impecunious hero.

My lover gave her most yearning of looks,
I saw her lonely youth in this:
father a widower, wealthy in Springport;
shipped in her dresses from Paris.
Across the tracks a young lieutenant, wounded;
meetings in coffee bars,
toying with fears, he finding his heart again.
Did I remember? she asked.

The youngest of the gatecrashers
a handsome South-Asian man
now lost to his family; how it broke
our stage hearts to see him
so abandoned, and so, knowingly
bought into the story.
Under the guise of our lover’s trysts
worked up plot-lines:
a wealthy ruthless backer, leading lady,
the hero handsome, poor.
The backer bought the two strangers out,
the lady stood by him;
the hero kept on, it was well meant,
for entertainment.

The IRS brought down the tycoon.
Tied up in regulations,
gave up the movie business for oil,
smoothing the wheels
of industry, governments, all for to get
his armaments shipped.

Later in our Sunday clothes, the playwright
furious we ruined his script.

th (1)

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