Napoleon in Rags

Music dances in the polished aisles
of a Sunday morning
and stained glass dapples
yawning, stretching
in stencilled sunlight
bells ring their song
in echo
of bells long ago
and snatched words
in snatched conversations
breath cigarette smoke tales
of causes and preventions...
A coffin lid slams behind me
rows and rows of respectabilty
raise their voice in harmony
I bow my head
I have known those eyes before
I have known them all
they stare and tear and
pin me wriggling to the floor
left for dead
I belong below a stone
I have danced in moonlit recklessness
Now, in his domain he stands
a well respected man, so
assured of certainties
and consequences
I shall never know
A coffin lid slams...