Thursday, January 06, 2011

The Tragedy of Mick Lussa

I was married to a lovely woman,
And we lived together in a temple
That was not a temple, but it felt as one
When we made love together.

Her father employed me at his firm
Where all was perfect for so long
Until one night when I was tempted
By a temptress in the copy room.

It didn’t end just then for me
Or her, as we had sex inside
The Temple where my wife and I
Had lied in passion days before.

She caught us on the night
That I forgot our anniversary
And cast me out, with the roses,
French champagne that she had bought.

Suffice to say, her father fired me
The next day as she had called him
And the woman I had cheated with
Scorned me for embarrassment.

I took to the streets in misery
Feeling unworthy of hotels,
Too scared to face my family
Or any of my friends.

People looked away in passing
Even those I worked with or had known
As my hair was matted, curled, snake-like
From the trash of which I’d made a pillow.

I longed for the safety, serenity
The temple used to offer, but
It was gone.  Long gone.
Unreachable in shame.

A younger man approached a few months later
His pants baggy, face concealed by rag;
I noticed my reflection on his gun
And then was shot.

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