Philip Plays Patience
written by: James Gabriel
@James_Gabriel1
Sir Philip
sitting at
the club
playing patience
tendrils of smoke
break
over desiccated skin
once
plump and ripe
when he
just a dogsbody
standing in the
wadi
the second Boer
uniform
sticking to skin
the girl
walking over the
wooden bridge
above
eyes like
searchlights
meet
un-chaperoned
Old Mother
sees them
both
the smell
of brandy
fills his nose
as he lays the
six
of diamonds
down
on the table
looking at
the men
younger
than he by
decades
shaking hands
shuffle the deck
his eyes
blur the cards
black and red
swirl
the line
of her neck
hair lifted
up
skin like onyx
and a smell
so intoxicating
he begins
to lay down the
next round
his motions
slow
a stifled sob
the men do
not notice
Slaughter is upon you all, Old Mother!
I do not wish this, Old Mother!
Let me take her away from here, Old Mother!
I can make her my bride –
No, my servant, a housekeeper, Old Mother!
the dinner bell
rings
at the club
Sir Philip rises
gazing at the
fire raging in the
hearth
eyes glisten
trying to shut
out
the screams
in his head
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