Le Noir, Le Rouge
Of all the places to stand
and watch the world end
this window would be the best
When the black rain started to fall
she went, with interest to the glass
A strange gift to offer
from a strange god
His invitation, to the pinnacle
of his temple
(and what a beauty it was,
downtown urban pyramid
of glass and metal, ablaze with
lights), was it a vanity?
What a fascinating, dangerous
mind, to give her this
A jewelry box with a poisoned
barb for a clasp
But it hardly mattered, she
liked being seduced
however apocalyptic the display
She smiled, returned, barefoot
to the bed, and dressed carelessly
As she put on her shoes,
her fingers brushed the small ridge
of the tiny dagger on her ankle
Good that he saw it last night
One shouldn't be allowed
to forget
At every window, noon
turned to night, (and what
a matchless night, city lights
coming on, confused slow
motion, wondering if it all
was ending indeed),
was it a threat?
How it slides down
the great, angled surfaces of glass
Bending, gliding, with no
harsh business of striking
or spattering
Should she slip away
before he made his reappearance,
hijack his private elevator down,
walk out onto the black wet
sidewalk, with a laugh
at his presumption?
Perhaps
Or perhaps she would wait and see
whether there was snow behind the rain
and it really was
the winter of the world.
copyright Malcolm Deeley
Of all the places to stand
and watch the world end
this window would be the best
When the black rain started to fall
she went, with interest to the glass
A strange gift to offer
from a strange god
His invitation, to the pinnacle
of his temple
(and what a beauty it was,
downtown urban pyramid
of glass and metal, ablaze with
lights), was it a vanity?
What a fascinating, dangerous
mind, to give her this
A jewelry box with a poisoned
barb for a clasp
But it hardly mattered, she
liked being seduced
however apocalyptic the display
She smiled, returned, barefoot
to the bed, and dressed carelessly
As she put on her shoes,
her fingers brushed the small ridge
of the tiny dagger on her ankle
Good that he saw it last night
One shouldn't be allowed
to forget
At every window, noon
turned to night, (and what
a matchless night, city lights
coming on, confused slow
motion, wondering if it all
was ending indeed),
was it a threat?
How it slides down
the great, angled surfaces of glass
Bending, gliding, with no
harsh business of striking
or spattering
Should she slip away
before he made his reappearance,
hijack his private elevator down,
walk out onto the black wet
sidewalk, with a laugh
at his presumption?
Perhaps
Or perhaps she would wait and see
whether there was snow behind the rain
and it really was
the winter of the world.
copyright Malcolm Deeley