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.