covent garden, gentleman's club, london town, english rose
A Gentleman's Club, London Town
I sit at my appointed place waiting for him Lazily gazing out of the window, I see the reflection Of my favourite flunky "How sad those people have to trudge and slip in this relentless sleet?" Their heads bowed down with hats or raised with black umbrellas "The same again!" I sound like some old fart from the Lamb "Medicinal y'know - for the pain" I point and rub my leg, watching his eyes But he couldn't give a damn. What more than XO and the glow of a real fire? I scan the many paintings, imagining the bickering Between nineteenth century swells How many pooh-poohs over the Bard from successive generations How many trying wits and put-the-world-to-righters "In vino veritas" How does one count a man's worth? "I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste", alas A sardonic grin and clumsy bow Of good young men there is a dearth. All the world's a stage; all the world's a Globe Through the window I see rain now beating down On an endless parade of black cabs How many taxi drivers does it take to change a lamp? I've never made up a joke, Just told them... Fuck knows! A curse not to be creative these days "Poor Varrius; where ever will you find an English rose?" A frown and finger on pursed lips; Beware, he loves no plays. The club is a constant in an ever changing world We are all players in here tonight, Believing that acting is so much more real than life How many of us use the craft to hide the bores we really are? Never concocted one decent quotation, "The spice of life is a peppery arse". Though penniless he wields such power We must all bend over and kiss the stars Late from spying on lonely prey, From his vantage point in a council tower.
© Severn Dwyer. 2009