Venus in a red dress (Dublin 1955)

Venus in a red dress (Dublin 1955)

 

a Dublin book launch, tedious, 

(the ‘literati’ out in force) 

until a red-haired red-dress vision

whisked my idle thoughts to Venus -

as per Botticelli

 

my bohemian dishevelment,

my air of arty poverty,

might turn her off,

or turn her on…

conceivably

 

she had that 'look'

most women get from

decades of frustration

 

‘if only more men would be like me’

 

she was the centre

of a 'murder of suitors' -

woman-haters privately,

of common ambition -

hot nights in a seedy hotel,

taking their ‘fill’ until

a fresher version came along

 

I leaned against a door

rimming my tongue around

a glass of brandy

admiring her facile repelling of

drooling hopeful ‘boarders-in-waiting’

 

I would make her sad eyes smile

capture her with wit and words

then grant her freedom

after a weekend away with me

 

I eased from the door

to sit on a chair that,

blame the drink, 

turned out not exactly

where I reckoned it to be

 

my brandy stained the rug

a priceless Kashmiri

 

Venus tutted, rolled her eyes,

then locked her eyes

with the bulbous eyes

of a local Nabob,

 

a porcine bastard,

rich as Croesus

with a chain of hotels

and a fleet of buses

 

she walked towards him

flicked her hair,

straightened his tie,

 

brief words were shared,

an exchange of nods

then arm in arm

they headed for the door

 

her sad eyes glittered,

she’d landed a big fish at last,

‘la dolce vita’ lay ahead

 

the ‘big fish’ was happy,

another floozy netted

to sport with, film and fillet,

on his mirrored orgy bed

still sprawled, I called,

 

‘catch yerself on, darlin’

don't walk out with 'ugly bastard'…

he’ll crush you like a rutting boar

that's what he does to all his whores!'

I was ignored.