Melancholy

"You're folds of fat! There's mirth if you need it!"
Thanks but no thanks. I'm too old and blue.
The eyes went all sideways as soon as they sensed me.
A solipsist's half-smile, a version of you.

I'm sorry you married a nondescript tosspot.
I'm sorry your French n'est as good as you'd wish.
I'm sorry I wrote you that short, obscene letter.
But frankly, my dear, after this, je m'en fish.

There's plenty more Angeles on every pinhead.
(I hope you enjoy your cathedrals in France.)
There's people who understand how to be people,
Can gauge the right placement of hands at a dance.

"Oh look, I even get a mat!" Live with that,
With the telephone salesman jokes and the sense
Of sexlessness that makes you eat three eclairs.
Breathe the 'nogamy air, I've been told it's intense.

Me. I'm stuck with this plinth, with this cradle, this smile,
This stupid conch consciousness smelling of sea.
"You're folds of fat! There's mirth if you need it!"
Cheers love, keep the change, save the last laugh for me.