the london period

having served her with a divorce he moves to london
and carouses there and spends his funds with abandon
never unpacks the laptop contacts unbidden
then he dies
the maid collects from his room the crumpled linen
sundry braces and ties

they will later call it his london period
to ennoble the spot where he disappeared
having left us if not his shell his oeuvre entire
paintings or books or whatever rife
the laptop never unsheathed brimming with fire
yet somewhere she is still his wife

every now and then they raise academic ruckus
whether he or so-and-so was the greater artist
while in a tropical flophouse where the sky is louder
hiding behind a pillar enclosed in a salsa din
he spots her across the hall in front of the counter
checking in

Tags: verse