Belles

Pull ye the other one, it hath got belles on.
--Terry Pratchett, Lords and Ladies

Yes, belles;
beautiful ladies who laugh at the poor Fool.
They preen like parrots and I parrot their chatter,
bright plumage flutters in the middle of the court.
Fools don’t all come dressed in rags and tatters:
some wear business suits, drink wine and port
or sip martini lunches out by the swimming pool.

Belles walk past and ring out soft attractions
and the fools lurch up out of lawn chairs and strut,
flashing their cards and turning aces by the fistful.
Trumps are played and hands are taken, but
turned tricks can leave a player looking wistful.
It’s a Fool's job to comment on the action:

“Poor Tom’s a-cold! He’s got no rags to sell,
I tried to grow a pumpkin but it withered on the vine
that’s why you won’t see me at the royal dance.
A squash, a squash. A crush is all the love that’s mine,
no-one would invite harlequin Tom to romance.”
My song is drowned out by the swinging belles.


Collection available! Knocking from Inside