The Very Last Page

I seemed to be reading the same old book,

Over and over again,

With always a feeling of certainty

That nothing would change, it’s the same,

The answer she gives him is set in stone

No matter how often I read,

There’s none of this changing her mind at will,

So often, a woman’s creed.

 

The drapes and the curtains are always in place

The antimacassars as well,

The stew in the kitchen is bubbling too,

Gives off a mouth watering smell,

The stranger who’s coming, I know him of old,

I’ve read of him so many times,

He figures somewhere in the future and past

Of the woman who’s waiting to dine.

 

The husband is wary, he’s older than her,

In truth, he is very like me,

She married for money, in that I concur,

For his wife and mine, Janet Leigh.

Our Janet’s are different, for she’ll never change

The Janet portrayed in the book,

She’s gorgeous and devious, that I can see

And is cheating, by glance and by look.

 

But mine is so changeable, often she cries

Then she’ll be light as air, fancy free,

She says that she loves me, then gives me a look

Like icicles, hung from a tree,

The stranger that’s coming, I don’t know as well,

He’s someone she’s dredged from her past,

And I’m to be nice, or she’ll put me through hell

But at least I will see him, at last.

 

I know in the book that they’re silent each time

That the husband will enter the room,

And secretive glances, from him and to her,

Are raising the heat in the gloom,

The scene never changes, I know it by heart

For the words stay unchanged on the page,

No matter how often I read it, I know

That the husband’s containing his rage.

 

For words that are printed are stable and fixed

Are so very much better than life,

While words that are spoken are so full of tricks,

And changeable, loaded with strife,

The moods of the moment may suddenly pass

But the words keeping on hanging in space,

They echo down corridors, play on the mind

And destroy peace of mind, and of grace.

 

We sat after dinner and tasted the wine

While she and the stranger had smiled,

I said, ‘What’s your secret, Oh Janet my love,

Will you share it?’ She said, ‘In a while!

I promised my friend there’d be nothing unsaid

When we’d finished the final course,

And really, my darling, our marriage is dead…

I’m looking to get a divorce!’

 

‘I knew it was coming, it said in the book

That the stranger would take you away,

It’s written in stone on page hundred and four

It would happen on just such a day.

Thank God for the words that are written in stone

They’re a comfort, for they never change,

The slow-acting poison I put in your wine

You will find on the very last page.’

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[minisla]

Words never lie well the written ones don't. Whereas the spoken ones are often distorted to suit ones self.

[Marie]

So life imitates are, and the final revenge is taken on the final page...


I like to read books over and over again, becuse I can count on them not to change.