Every bead like a miniature snare bounced
the stolid way across a plastic wood surface
Two young ladies, three young women, and a girl
spoke in the subdued tones of spies engaged
in altering intrigues
whose full effect
remained to be felt
by those ignorant masses who were beads.
Aha! There was the planning instant,
The sudden and instant hour
that kidnapped itself as a joke
but failed to show humor.
How many plans have been made in earnest in the damp night
only to witness with the sun
a living ridicule that renders them
laughably useless, rent by practical reality?
Heat slackens cords and beads dangle and snares soften
and traps appear and espionage sweats secrecy
with an odor quite like that of singed flowers
who were first women.
All those hushed words, rushing from sources of import,
lush with scandal and complex sugars, swollen
pendant beneath the supple limbs of the Tree
of the Knowledge of Gossip and Envy -
They made nothing, yet, at least, killed an hour