Albert Guillaume, French
“Sorry We’re Late, Folks. The Line at the Monocle Rental Place Was Ridiculous,” ca. 1914
Oil on canvas
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/// At the theatre they always come late,
at the rise of the curtain at eight.
Both squeeze through toward their seat,
stepping on people’s feet,
for they’re all just a bit overweight.
/// The Duke’s box is capacious and wide,
but they’d climbed the stairs to the wrong side.
They’ll barge past these elites
to their high-priced box seats,
while ignoring gibes angry and snide.
/// The huge box belongs to la duchesse,
which is why he “misplaced” it, I guess.
Le duc does, to be fair,
only rarely go there.
(He prefers others, he will confess.)
/// His wife is so pale she looks ashen,
and they dress in the latest high fashion.
Their lateness, it’s true,
is called “fashionable,” too.
Being seen, (not to see), is their passion.
/// To the theatre they’ve come to be viewed,
but their seat mates are in a vile mood.
They’re all rich with high status,
but le duc’s fetid flatus
makes it seem he intends to be rude.
/// His top hat he holds high in the air,
for to wear it would be most unfair
to the people behind.
Yet they’ll certainly mind
when it’s used to fan odors “down there.”
/// “Ahh… Excusez-moi,” mumbles le duc,
thinking that will prevent a rebuke.
When he’s seated at last,
even more gas is passed;
the first “accident” wasn’t a fluke.
/// La duchesse, with her nose in the air,
shows no sign that she’s even aware
of emissions offensive.
Her parfum is expensive,
overpowering his derrière.
/// What Milady’s broad bosom revealed
was a vast perfumed powdery shield.
From her senses it blocked
any odors which shocked
those nearby whose nose fluids congealed.