You’d confiscated my key
so I climbed the drainpipe;
pulled pork, beets and brandy – I dined
well with the folk inside. With all that whisky
spilt down my shirt I couldn’t sit right.
I brought you wine and flowers;
your hound helped tear the trousers
from my legs. While he and I
were making friends, I found
myself chained to the radiator,
with a pair of silver bracelets
that match the drill sergeant’s
epaulettes – he was braced
against the wall, searching
for the alca-seltzer, pawing
through the kitchen drawers.
While a preacher at the faucet
claimed he was pouring holy water,
in the war room your butler
played checkers and a marching
band circled the dining table
breaking tea-cups and jesters
take the minutes of this farce.
All these itinerants were kept raving
by a the extenuations of an alleyway
medicine tradesman prescribing
alcohol for their sores. Offering
to waterboard me at no extra cost,
your lawyers billed the standard fee:
they’d smelt blood playing Double Dutch
underneath the hanging tree.
I wouldn’t’ve guessed I’d be
contested for your lionized
affections – I’d sooner be rid of you
than a pack of hungry dogs;
even with my dying cough I’d rather
roll between the stables,
with your vaudeville chicks painted
head-to-toe, bathed in laughter
and without their clothes.