3612. KENILWORTH

KENILWORTH

I've tried a thousand times to win your heart,

but like fifteen ways to skin a cat nothing really

worked at all. You held the red paint so close

to your chest, you wore that red gown to the

movies. If I wasn't sequestered, then I wasn't

alone  -  I could never really reach out to you.

We once tried putting cashew nuts on your

peanut butter, but all the bread did was sag.

Reading Poe by candlelight, that did nothing

for us either : before we knew it, we were - as

the Eagles once sang - 'prisoners of our own

devise.' I don't know why, I always liked that

phrase. Now, a few years later, it seems,

you are hell-bent on reaching your point,

making a scene with your leathers and

arms. All right, then, go ahead. I swear

I know how you will eventually end up  -

like that girl I saw today outside the

Alchemist and Barrister, crying her

eyes out on the phone in her smock

and blouse and black waitress apron;

and oh, it was all very sad indeed.