I’d Like to know if this relationship
is rather more than just professional.
This movie world, in which we live, is hip
where celebrities declare confessional.
Thought we were immune from domination;
the nation’s youth, under the spell of stars,
can’t separate the real from aspiration.
Why do we believe, are we so bourgeois?
Or is it only our imagination
sees glances, body language as a clue;
mild paranoia that fuels this accusation.
Could be our eyes are wrong, or is it true?
Does his lunchtime visit to the gym
pump up his muscle for his wife at home,
or is it she directs his carnal whim?
She, Adam’s Eve, the temptress with the pome.
Will it be long before someone will talk?
About the place of business, gossip is
the meat of conversation, sure to caulk
the gaps in day-long toil, to earn the wages.
Should we beware that sometimes walls have ears
and threaten our security to own
our hearts and minds? Or will it end in tears,
belittle us, remove us from our throne?
Is idle talk an ending in itself
or holds it all the portents of our doom,
whence we will stack our lives upon a shelf,
or should we clean our yard with holy broom?
I’d really like to know … or would I?
© 2009 John Anstie
(View the author’s commentary on this poem)