Ennui
In the style of T.S. Eliot.
*******
Ronaldo sprawled in luxury
across from where the spaniel lay,
pretending to read Mallarme
and yawning, stuck in Chapter One.
The Grandfather ticked heavily,
there was no other sound in sight
except dear Josephine who plonked
and murdered dear Stravinsky's Rite.
Boredom, and the day's absorption
with the National Election,
who shall be our next Great Leader?
pray not some hapless interceder!
Clementine declared,
"the weather is a bit inclement,
what to wear for Blanche's soiree,
burgundy, or pearly grey?"
Ronaldo trifled with religion,
"Heaven doesn't need a poet
who maligns the Holy Spirit,
I am going straight to Hell,
where I'll meet Lucrezia Borgia,
who will toy with my affections,
feed me fabulous confections,
poisonous, my second death."
Nobility has late escaped us,
suburbanites are out to scold us,
gentle is as gentle does
is not the same as it once was.
We're outcasts in a sea of trouble,
cucumber sandwiches and quince
have disappeared in all the rubble,
what price pomp and circumstance?
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