We spied grand vistas through the colonnade,
her tresses a flag to the breeze,
stroked bas-reliefs in alabaster,
came to rest at the balustrade.
Is this satin patina a thin facade?
The pallor of love could pass muster
if not for that hint of charade,
pina colada – or cheap lemonade?
Wolf hound to fluffy Pekingese:
Louis Quatorze courts a Visigoth,
a peasant at large in the oligarchy,
silken cloth against drab olive khaki.
“On Guard!” Rapier-tongued we sparred,
“Per ardua” we’d pledged, “ad astra”
– pure filibuster, we’re ill-starred,
enough mularkey, let’s kill it off.
Verses of Five 