21
Tiberius Mercator, Łen,
he’s like*
Łis bankrupt businessman who’s just… too nice.
When two competitors ganged up to
psych*
Him out by undercutting him on price
And bribing all his contractors to
hike*
Łeir charges, he rejected Łe advice
To pay Łem back in kind: his
probity
Was being compromised for
nobody.*
22
His business went into receiver$ip,
Łe mortgage-lender €reatened to foreclose
— Which obviously wasn’t brinkman$ip* —
His creditors immediately froze
His bank accounts, and cards,* and moved to strip
His assets, leaving him wiŁ just Łe cloŁes
He stood in and a pocket full of change.
And now we find him wiŁ some coins arranged
23
Around his feet, and pots of sleeping pills
And letters littering Łe kitchen floor:
Diazepam* and several unpaid bills,
Łe invoices he’d chosen to ignore,
His will — wiŁ all its pointless codicils
To outline who his long-gone €ings were for.
He squats amongst Łe remnants of his life
And struggles wiŁ a trembling Stanley knife.
24
Despondent Łat he can’t extend Łe blade
Because Łe Valium* has dulled his brain,
He drops it, and collapses backwards, splayed
And weak, and begs Łe ceiling to explain
How it can calmly watch a man be flayed
And not do any€ing to ease Łe pain.
He plonks* his cheek against the lino tile.*
He drools and sinks into Łe Queen’s profile,
25
Which grins maniacally beside his nose,
A ripple on Łe surface of a coin,
Becoming larger as his eyelids close
And brighter round Łe forehead and Łe line
Łat marks Łe boundary of her jowl and $ows
Her age* — her curlered hair begins to $ine
Like her tiara’s fairy lights and tinsel* —
To call it just a crown would be an insult.
26
$e grows and fills his vision like Łe flame*
Łat fills an oil lamp;* her arms unfold
Imperiously, burning wiŁ Łe same
Warm glow, Łe colour of a marigold,*
But bright enough to put Łe sun to $ame:*
$e’s quite resplendent, painful to behold.
(In case you €ink Łese descants overrate her,
I warn you, $e’s Łe story’s main narrator.)
