Another Night at the Folies-Bergère

I'm the caricature, of course, the aging
Man whose desperation leads him toward
The sweet young thing. Toulouse-Lautrec
Would have deflated me with two strokes
Of his crayon, so I'm ushered from the stage,
Condemned, and scorned, but where are
You? You're near. You have not turned away,
And, thus, the butt of jokes remains at hand.
He dares not speak to you, but you won't
Leave to let him heal. You loved him
In return, I think, but dared not let that love
Continue...not exactly. Still you stay,
And run the risk of being found out,
Sketched by some malicious cripple,
Frozen ever afterward as one poor earnest
Aging man's ill-chosen sweet young thing.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 87 times
Written on 2017-08-02 at 01:46

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