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MY POETRY HOME — trespassers welcome
(Sunday, July 18, 1999) A spotless white shirt and
gold clipped silk tie,
then the jacket, coat or blazer.
Black Oxford shoes glistening
spit and polish are smartly wiped
just above the lace knots by
a pair of trousers black,
held at the waist by a gleaming
tobacco-brown leather belt
with brass buckles.
A white kerchief adorns the
hand that holds the swagger stick,
whilst a jaunty hat perches
on the pompous head.
I am going downtown,
so I grandiosely saunter along the
pavement full of fulsome airs.
Imperial steps I dramatize if
it had rained some hours before;
and I make sure I strictly
look the business from hat to sole:
An unapologetic, relentlessly
measured pace of advancement as
I take my stilted steps,
and you would bet your last
meal ticket on it that a lord of
the affluent glitterati is walking by.
When heads really start turning my way,
I make sure my poise snaps
more high and sure; a style
elegant and upbeat I display,
and them that stare at me would
soonest swear I am an aristocratic
member of the House of Senate.
As I go downtown awalking,
I make sure the chiefs of
neighbourhoods are fooled into
taking me for a potent sovereign;
and to every fair dame I appear
like a prince conctipotent.
Among them are certain forward madams
who would forfeit the glory of their
wedding rings just to kiss my shoes
as I glitter past them with aplomb;
and the fantasy-prone adolescent
girls whose greetings I return
would have their pulses ruffled
for weeks to come thereafter.
Then, when I return home, I make sure
I quickly but quietly pick up
my brush and towel to begin
scrubbing madam's shoes and tiles.
Her clothes I wash and iron.
Even her undies, too.
That then accomplished,
I make sure I remind myself
that I am only a mere houseboy
after all, and not the rich lord
I pretend to be whenever I go downtown.
© 1999, M-Auwal Gene III. All Rights Reserved
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