Rubies

1 November 2015

Glow White and the Three Dwarfs Remaining —
Sneezy, Sleazy and Greasy: we were just
guys together, once, digging up diamonds, pals —
then this whirlwind of womanhood
descended on us out of the forest
with her perfume, her mystery and her periods.
She owned this Summer Retreat — Gnome, Alaska —
perched on a mountain covered with glittery gneiss
and a pool that nobody swam in. Or
so she said: who could tell? Then
her winter home in the Republic of Ireland,
tax, natch. We were just rubes della bosca,
hicks and hayseeds with a stash of gems,
blokey yokels with a thuggish charm,
or so she’d have us believe. What happened
to the other four? No one can remember.
Nodding off among the gloomy furniture.
She’s gone again, with that Lothario,
to ‘liquidate’ a sack of rubies in Lausanne.
Tell us again, Sleazy, the one about
Sleepy and the Doc, the good old days,
before things changed, and we got to be rich.

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