|Banquet Scene with a Lute Player by Nicolas Tournier, 1625|
Ghostly servant painted white,
fading into darkness,
what stories your thin lips must spill
what distasteful tales convey
for surely you have heard it all
in your insignificant way.
Utter them now , spin us the yarn
while this good lady looks at you
every one else at the table is bored
with my uncle’s incessant reflections.
Look at him there, that glass in his eye
as if seeing the maker creating
he oooooos and he ahhhhhhs
while he primps and he paws
one hand in the folds of my dressings.
He’s old and he’s cold and likely to mold
and the stench he sets off nauseates me.
Invisible one please come to me
tonight in the day’s lonely gloaming
the stories you hold must surely be told
with your peppermint breath
my throat in a catch,
we can wander until the moon rises.
A shout out to Tess Kincaid for her blog Magpie Tales. Visit that link for more takes on the picture as prompt.