The Hothouse Rose: Twelfth Tattersby

Posted by ractrose on 17 Sep 2017 in Art, Poems

The Hothouse Rose: twelfth Tattersby


The Folly




The Hothouse Rose


‘You’ll have to get rid of that woman’

Her voice rings oddly clear, a piercing ray

of sun snowcaps Mrs. Kentworthy’s hair

His housekeeper meets his eye; a glance up from her cleaning kit

And withering glare, that says indeed,

keeping fealty with the name she bears,

‘I’ve worked many places, Mr. Inskip. This here’s summat

below par.’

He’s not certain, though, that Lucille can be heard

By any other than himself

It had been the start—

His giving Macbeth’s before the ghost of Banquo

A run for its money

An earlobe tugged sportingly

That chilling touch

(Not her fault, he grants)

And Dougal being out the night, his coat


Face unshaved, shoes tracking mud

His help must think him fallen prey to drink

No, she doesn’t hear that laugh

Sees her gentleman strike a listening attitude


They pantomime these telegraphing roles

He knows Mrs. Kentworthy is jotting notes

Mentally, what she’ll tell her sister


The Hothouse Rose: twelfth Tattersby

More of this piece on Tattersby page:
A Cold Reception: thirteenth Tattersby (excerpt)






(copyright 2017 Stephanie Foster)





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