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

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