Barracuda Decision

The door was locked;

white wine incense

draped the table.

Feeding on our youth,

a supper of wit,

we dined,

occasionally pausing

to say grace beneath the table.

From outside the silver dining room,

echoing off the walls

in the halls of the sterile palace,

computer banjos

spewed rueful tunes

of monogrammed secrecy.

Singular incest

was the rule of the hour

for those who would play the game

properly.

I wanted to play, I think,

(did you?)

till you explained

the player’s entry fee

disguised till the final whistle blows.

So go back to chewing your bubblegum

or whatever you do nowadays;

I’ll bust open the locked door

with one good strong kick.

(for Sylvia Plath)

-R. Bremner

(previously appeared in Poets Online, July 2013)