She opened the coffee table book and stopped at the reproduction of Bruegel’s “Landscape with the fall of Icarus”
He: Found something interesting?
She: Is it sunset or sunrise?
He, from the corner of his eye, handing her tea: More like sunset. What’s the difference? Who cares anyway?
The self-absorbed ploughman ploughs the bountiful soil
Expensive ship cruise the rocky shores: life’s at its height
The bemused shepherd muses: perfect day, no spoil
No one can care less when Icarus reaches twilight
The selfish fisherman lounges to fish on the sea shore
End of a journey: the sun does not shine so bright
Icarus’ legs clown like the legs of Belmer’s whores
Daedalus’ stellar son was not prepared for such a flight
The fantastiKarus must fall
He, taking the book of her hands and She not opposing resistance: You’re so absorbed!
She: Why doesn’t the fisherman fish him out?
He, dismissive: ’cause he’s long dead: heart attack, I guess
She: Broken heart
She: Unbridled enthusiasm
He: Casualty of youth
She: Burnt out
He: Another idiot
He: A fool
She, vanquished: Who cares?
He, drying slowly a tear down her cheek with his index: Yes, the show must go on.
The seashell fragile Icarus must wreck
Wind beneath his wings, Icarus,
For a flash of enlightenment:
Flew so close the counterfeit sun
Downfall: the price for such a willful sin
Rebel without a cause, the reckless son
Must drown forever
The Fisher King watches the ship wings full blast
The benign sun smiles its anemic rays in the distance
Good shepherd Abel counts his sheep till last
Picaresque souls pry around for instant happenstance
Ploughman Cain tills his soul with acrimony
None could care less if they’d live
She, intense with tears: But… I care, I care, I care
He, hands flying above his head: women are so e.motion.all!
She, flying at the door, leaving: Who cares?