Merely Players

Only she could begin to feel
What life was like within his skin;
A skin that crawled where yours would itch;
A skin cut by an ancient birch,
Where yours is scratched by an over-playful Tabby.

Only she could begin to see
In her mirror what he observed in his:
King Lear’s Fool? The timeless Wit,
But Lear himself, Cordelia in arms,
Where you would merely smile or cry.

Only she could begin to know
That gnosis; when all are wanton boys,
That one’s more sinned against than sinning
And, somehow, can leave these two roles,
And take on Edmund’s skin and then
Return, say “Sorry” to other parts
Who tolerate; Edgars, those like you,
With fewer lines, your single pelt.

The thing is he began to see
When seeing her the way that you
Saw him, the Fool, the Edmund,
Lear fused together, he in the stands,
And he wished, like Gloucester,
That he couldn’t see, see the character,
The roles, the archetypes he played.
So he left King Lear, he left that stage,
That drama, to return to playful tabbies
And their owners who “got him” only slightly,
Who smiled and talked of favourite foods.