Mr. Thomas

[heslopian]

There was an old theatrical,
a luvvie loved by all.
In his dotage he dared to tell
of his love for his own sex,
and even this failed to vex
his beloved public.
He took himself a young lover
who could have been his son's brother.
He thought this new affair a sham,
as did his close friends,
and so the old man took pleasure
in making up for lost folly,
hedonism long denied.
But to his weary heart he lied
when the young man showed the signs
of affection running deep,
a river in a dark meadow
reflecting light between its shores.
That one should throw away their youth,
the happy scores
of sex and life,
to consign their heart to strife,
the prison of unselfish care,
offended Mr. Thomas so.
'But!' his prisoner implored, 'sex is fleeting, as is life,
and in the absence of a wife
why not take my soul to keep?
Mr. Thomas I love you,
not just as a foster dad
or a human credit card,
as the gossips would believe. '
Mr. Thomas pained himself
to make his prisoner see sense,
but still the young man stayed stubborn,
naive as a picket fence.
With heavy heart old Thomas took
his father's service pistol down,
resolved to free his prisoner
the only way he could see how.
And so against the boy's temple
he poised the barrel,
fired once, and now to make it through the day
he counts the sparrows on their way
past the bars of his gray cell,
hoping the boy is not in hell.