when you rode your gallantry
into a fortress town
the shopkeepers’ wives
in their frippery
would practically fall over.
They could see as well as I
what their husbands could never,
that you’d be a masterful lover
with their reins in your hands,
leading them on through secret thickets
into the wild country.
And that you’d be a vigorous father
unless something angered you,
but that would be rare and, anyway,
a man with so much fire in him
would have to flame up now and then.
Not that it matters anyway,
now the blaze of your life has been doused.
– Dark Eileen O’Connel