The Invalid
That’s how it is, I know now I must play
The role of invalid until I meet
The Crack of Doom. And readers thus informed,
Supported by the warmth of well-meant hearts,
Desiring little from me in response,
Will ask me gently: How are you today?
And find me silent. Why such churlishness?
Has illness made me inarticulate?
Stopping the fountain of egregious chat
That source of anger and of mystery,
That feignèd wit which cracks like icicles
And brings about a wintry solitude
The answer is I’m doomed to co-exist,
As landlord to a most inventive guest,
Who knows me better than I know myself,
Filing his claws – For yes, he’s masculine –
To scour down crannies in my privacy
And wound the organs of necessity.
He means me ill, wants me to show him fear,
His job is painful and well recognised.
We’re all supposed to speak in hushèd tones
A mark of honour for his worldwide fame.
Oh, panjandrum of puking pestilence,
Pustular pride pleads pyromania
I took the other road and chose divorce
Broke his house rules and made the upper floor,
He’s there below, a threat to life and limb,
I may not beat him but I’ll refuse him awe,
Avert my face and turn up Figaro,
Dwell on great thoughts beyond his baneful sphere.
Revised 12 hours later
That's the way RR. Try to ignore the bastard as much as possible. Anyway, in our 80s something nasty always waits in the woodshed (thanks Cold Comfort Farm) to jump out and get us.
ReplyDeleteAvus: Thanks for that. What I had to say was important - to me at least. The way I said it was slapdash. I need to tinker with with it awhile.
ReplyDelete