24 July 2014


If utterly blasé one could maintain it’s 
a lesser way of keeping balance, that 
mode of being aloof without damaging 
toeholds of conscience you wrought by 
self-denial, and cleared of but not freed, 
assuaging agonies; you’re somewhere 
in between obviously, if not its victim, 
then sacrifice at least, but you’ll never

Be right; she will see to it victory stays 
chaste and free of taint, and irony isn’t 
the box seat she’s got at your operatic 
debut but in who wrote the tunes you’ll 
have to sing an aria to before curtains 
deign to quiver awake - and finally fall 

Happy Birthday Lady; so may the last 
solo be praise sung in harmony; what 
a fine fusion of naiveté - of grace and 
dignity bested in belief change’s safer 
than accepting reality; the differences 
forsake what the World gives away 

© 12 June 2014, I. D. Carswell