Disgrace
a poem
She panders
to those fleshy zones
where sinews cleave
to loyal bones,
each a pressured
principality,
where the burden of duty
sleepwalks along
blue-veined corridors.
He is keen to air
his personal woes
to his ad-hoc retinue,
while she prepares
those princely plates of meat,
kneading the mottled
pink and white
and despite the intimacy
afforded by every tweak,
she remains invisible
to history.
Some might opine that
in a few years time
his daughters
would be of similar age,
but he has no desire
to compare
marble with parian ware,
he is too busy
playing the distinguished
guest in this Midas mansion
reeking of old money,
where Henry James once lost
his golden bowl
in a game of whist
and Caligula decamped upstairs
to the porphyry suite
and sent for fresh towels
every morning.
