JAILER
If I was a jailer in a biblical cell, I'd
call out the lions on you. If I was Salome,
calling for a head, I'd put you in the place
of John. Nothing else would do.
-
Now they're writing poetry on bathroom walls
in places I never go - others tell me about it -
long poems with weird words, words like tits
and twat and crotch. What do these people do
who sharpen these quills, and where now has
Will Shakespeare gone? All attempts 'to pluck
out the heart of this mystery', as Shakespeare
put it, would fail. I am sure of that.
There is no prodding the line.
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