Classic Poem

Five months after being mauled by
his illusionist, Bernard J. Ebber reported
the scheme he’d devised. “I can gaze
out my window and see 10
people who look like stars: they build
a great part of my remote personality and make
life bearable on Mars for example – the last resort of
our cosmopolitan lifestyle. Successful applicants,
they play a key role, utilising the latest
scenes, mismanaging the lost, solo.”
A few grey hairs sprouted
casually through a tattoo as he spoke
and beamed at them from billboards
over the weeks that followed. How words
beat against the pane was his subject – and how,
when sidling up to the bar, he’d hitch his briefs,
screen his soliloquies and pass the legal
tender where they’d kicked him. But
the show he put on, though true, was
convincing. People marvelled
at the way he insisted on flickering
on and off he’d go, developing black
hole technology, keeping in touch
with old friends.