Poetry (86)

Hello  Escritori,

Just to reassure any new readers that might read this poem and think of me as a floridly jealous obsessive, the scenario in this poem is completely fabricated! Enjoy.



I saw her yesterday

Coming out of your play

Press Night

In Mexico City.

A place of so much convivial

But occasionally abominable heat.


She was green

You were red

I went white as a sheet

When I discovered it.


Add to the instances

Of infidelity

The brazen and impromptu

Nature of the sex

When there was another you

Were promised to.


Forget that you were playing me

Don’t you dare protest

‘Faith, her privates we!’

A civilian can love a player

In the world of the theatre

But it was the veteran

To whom I showed compassion.

I suppose it’s best,

Before things become obscene

To end scene

Because I saw irrefutable proof.



Was where the First Act was did

I imagine it, by name instead

To be a bitter kind of bread

Pan like you get

On the Days of the Dead.

Thereby, of course it’s true

I know about her.

She’s even more

Beautiful and sinister

Than La Katrina.


The only colour in my flag is blue.

And if no-one else in your lifetime

Ever tells you:


Such flagrant vulgarity

Is not a virtue.


(© Copyright Pola Negri 20/04/2017)


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