That retrograde recluse to whom you’d made your
unpretentiously magnanimous attempt to befriend
eventually came good - yet, in the end, it was less
an epic than a saga’s dismemberment - seeing th’
self-proclaimed legend he’d played introspectively
to perfection fall apart cut deeply & its distractions
paved no pathways to glory; mirrored there but for
a receding hairline were all the cues to flee, & the
Clues as to where ageing veterans all fall apart …
You might’ve reflected, how’d it happen so quickly;
but then the smoke-screen you’d been hiding with
aplomb belying who and what you’d been seemed
to dissipate in being dispassionately blown away -
so if they’re the real characters you were about to
say - then who in Hell were we pretending to be
© 16 November 2015, I. D. Carswell
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