The Perfumer Royal’s Farewell
Dearest, I have handed in my notice.
Gigolos leave once the taut, resilient
Scrotum declines to cheap athletic sock
Inside which a pair of old egglets hide.
Chaplains retire when the famous silver
Tongue turns to lolling out some truisms
Before the routine eucharistic bit.
And I, whose trained olfactory sense could
Once distinguish among ninety aromatics
Have nostrils filled with carrion and must go.
I wish you joy in every smallest thing:
God bless you, darling, and God save the King.
If you have any
thoughts on this poem, Alex Rettie would be pleased to hear them.