The Manservant

FRANK POLITE

THE MANSERVANT

Blood,

profoundly red,

color of passion, certain

sunsets, serious threats,

moves deeply in thought

through wide and narrow rooms

sorting out, mopping up

Death and the threads of death

far from the sounding

depth charges of the heart.

Lover of life

in a long and winding gloom,

Blood soon will come

to a bright conclusion.

Perhaps a room where no light

nor air should be, glares a window,

a wound where this Manservant,

salty and stout,

will brood for a moment,

and leap out.