The Impresario (part seven)
The Impresario
Part Seven
He lifts the doll-woman onto the wagon’s bed
At once her small feet prance a pirouette
The hunchback has been beaten in the town
He must ask his good servant to mark a likeness down
One whose fortune Pierre the Seer will uncloak
She stands clear for the wax-man, Regalus
He waddles, stately, pale as death, to sit upon his pallet
While the impresario, touching fingers
To her shoulder, ties the tent fly, murmurs
“Dress yourself, the time is nigh”
Tortu sinks and sits cross-legged
With osier basket, lute and reed
She flutters, drawn this way and that
And the impresario cocks his hat
“Humble yourselves before the Lord
Yea, denizens of the North, behold
Creation’s variety manifold
For today we dwell on earth as told
Tomorrow cast into the flames
Spare a coin
And the least most high, and the last be first
Spare a coin
Come, varlet and master
Inquisitor and doubter
The shepherd and the butcher
Come, sergeant and informer
Spare a coin
Now hark! Madame Poupée
Eye, mes amis, if you please
Her silver rings, like a lark she sings
And the prize is yours
Can you guess where it lies—
A riddle. Shall I shine for you
A candle? I make light of a heavy weight,
friends, and give to you Mont-Blanc…eh?
Voilà! The genius of the place
The magnificent Man of Wax!”
His hand describes an alpine view
In the shape of a letter M
He glances, having counted beats
A roar like Stentor’s rends the air
The townsfolk aaah and then applaud
The impresario coughs
Impresario
Part Eight
(2017, Stephanie Foster)