(For ragashree - one exile to another )
-not quite a sonnet-
Am I Mancunian to be exiled thus?
My 'scent too heavy of an English rose;
My curtsey not pink as courtesy must
Needs be, perhaps my blood too blue to flow,
Or not quite blue enough? Aye, there's the rub.
Familiarity with contempt breeds
Subterfuge. In underground bars and clubs,
Liquor makes bold and poison envy feeds.
I favoured good Mercutio the clown,
For laughter often ends in tragedy.
At close of play we will have tears to drown
All hopes of lovers ending happily.
I would that bitter rivals could be wed;
In this undoing all are punish-ed.