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La Belle et la Bête - Caroline Knox
Look! See! Here she comes!
The Belle of the ball,
The pearl of the parade,
The masquerade queen:
See the sheen of her chiffon sash,
The sumptuous swathes of her
Silken skirts, as she sweeps
Past, perfectly poised on pristine points,
Paparazzi snapping at her heels,
Flash! Whirr! Flash!
See the gracious smile,
The glittering gilding,
The glow of her gown,
See a gloved hand extending
For a glass of champagne.
But who’s this,
Clutching at the satin train?
Who’s this,
With the matted mane,
The furrowed frown,
Fretted shame,
The scruffy coat, fractured horns,
Puzzled growl, grizzled muzzle,
Bitter scowl, drooping jowls?
She knells a laugh sublime
As she takes his arm:
Oh no, no faux pas!
There’s an inner charm,
She chimes, a debonair beau,
A tender heart in need of nurture.
Oh yes, she purrs, quite determined
To find the man beneath the fur.
Quelle horreur!
Sacré bleu!
Abominable! Désastreux!
How could she?
Why would she?
Slanderous Labels
Ladled out
Latched on
Lapped up:
A Bête Noir of
Middle-Class Fetters,
Money Frittered,
Manners Fetid.
Watch and wait,
She’ll regret it.
Yet
Never a flinch,
Never a doubtful flicker :
Each camera flash
Faced with
Piquant panache,
With style and flair,
A splash of pizzazz
(From him, a dashingly defiant glare).
She stands by her man,
Whatever the whim of the press,
Whatever the duress,
The flimsy fabrications,
The sensationalist stories.
And now look at him!
Could it be? –
No Bête Noir, he,
But the star of the show,
Quite the Debonair Beau,
The stir of the party.
Whirr! Flash! Whirr!
Make way for the
Lady and Sir!
A celebration of
Bells and bows.
See the happy couple,
How she knells, how he glows:
The Belle and her Beau,
The darling duo of
Elle and Hello!
Stellar careers,
The rage of the moment;
Never without their
PA, PR, VIP,
Paparazzi and camera crew
in tow.
But now a twist of fate,
An inversion of states as
Maternity starts to show.
The Petite Madame begins to
Swell and grow:
The slender waist is the first to go;
Aching back, fleshy thighs,
Puffy face, dimmed glow; high
Stress, throbbing nerves;
Bloated curves, sack dress.
And what of her Beau?
Does he help his belle
Damsel-in-distress?
Does he hell.
Well.
‘Noblesse oblige’
As you can tell.
He’s off to throw
A fête champêtre
At his fashionable chateau.
So
No time to abet
His raison d’être.
The richesse, the finesse,
Have all gone à tête
Avec la champagne.
He’s the Debonair Beau,
The man to know,
The nouveau goût;
The favouri du fête; an adept
At the jeu du beau monde,
But,
Ostensibly,
Sadly,
still
- a bête.
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