The Setting Sun.
As the sun was setting across the expansive lawn
which sweeps towards the shallow lake
of your new built ancient pile..
You sat chuckling…a glow of G n T upon your face
of ruby cheeks…your belly resting
on your skinny thighs…
Oh my …you said…oh my…I lust
my G n T with ice…come dusk.
I watch you clink your drink…and ice
rolls in the glass…
My mind drifts back into the past….
The Habsburg Kings…the Queens
of great expanse…those bone head Royals
with great large chins and inbred feebleness.
They had their ice brought down on asses’ backs
from frosty mountain tops….and then…
Fred Tudor came along and he shipped ice
around the world…before the fridge was born.
But here we sit…fixed in another time.
Your eyes are shining now..
Your well fed lips …your ageing teeth
are full of happiness.
The autopsy read…I said…
That when the stricken Charles the 2nd died,
He’d not a drop of blood within his veins
and all that they could find within his skull
was water slopping round.
Poor man, you said.
But in this life…you can’t have everything.
Another G n T old girl?
Without the ice…I said.
Kristine Byrne. 7am Sunday 12th Aug. 2018
Photo…English Manor. Greenwich. built in 2001.