The Regent’s Bastard’s Grandson: First Wake

Posted by ractrose on 10 Nov 2018 in Art, Poems

Charcoal and pastel drawing of Wake trying on woman's hat and jacket

 

 

The Folly

Wake

 


 

The Regent’s Bastard’s Grandson

 

And what do they keep in their reticules

It has been his job to make them give these over

This post a vulgar letdown, but Wake earns enough

To keep the rent up

While these holiday-makers, these thieves of the Queen’s revenue

These women

Sneer…they sneer behind a pretence of anxiety

Wake is the scion of royalty

Goes to show

He bends, hands clasped at his back, and circles

Gives, does he suspect, a bustle stuffed with Turkish

A smack

She shrieks

‘No, madam, I won’t touch you…needn’t worry’

He says it stiffly, mumbles

Makes a point, before their eyes, of going in

To the elbow, plumping up the linings

Of their travel-trunks

 

Well, we all know bloody Wake, the Bristol Ripper

No one wants him

 

Not so! Not so…ha! You know me, sir

Try to trap me

But I’ve seen things…and yes, who won’t like to know?

 

Then, do you suppose, the guest says, sotto voce, to the host

He’ll have gone, by tomorrow evening’s summoning?

He won’t, the girl Celt guiding them advises

Old Wake is next in line, and so the matter rests

His is a soul maligned, he has the right

To speak his piece

 

 


The Regent’s Bastard’s Grandson
Charcoal and pastel drawing of Wake in a woman's dress

Bon Marché

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(2017, Stephanie Foster)

 

 

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