Archive for June 12th, 2021

Saturday, 12 June 2021

The Beast by William (Bill) Lewis

The Beast sits by the telephone
Beauty doesn’t call anymore.

Outside across the lawn a peacock
cries out like a woman being murdered.

The Beast sits inside, curtains block
the gardens where stone animals crowd.

The Beast wears a black eye patch.
Beauty stabbed him in the eye

with the slim blade of her body.
Her smile is a Stanley knife.

The delicate lines around her mouth
cut deep into his sight. His vision hurts.

She is not cruel but her face is
a loaded gun that he presses against
the temple of his memory.

He is caught in a pincer movement,
his bad body image on one side
Beauty on the other.

He reads Angela Carter novels, fairy tales
and Mother Goose and hopes that wisdom

does not go stale over the centuries.
In those stories she always returns.

To be honest he fears that a little.
He has, after all, only one eye left.

He plays records. It is the nature of
the Beast to own vinyl, not a CD collection.

Julie London cries him a river Frank Sinatra
sings, it can happen to you/ fairy tales can come true

He does not know that sentimentality
is an act of violence.

In the dark bedroom his good eye waters.


Date: 1998

By: William (Bill) Lewis (1953- )