Klatsch By Brandon Marlon

Forgive my gaucherie, but I must confess

to stifling more than a few yawns in salons

thronged with leg-crossing intellectuals

who flatulently posture as they hold forth,

flaunting how learned their minds are,

how considered their opinions,

decadent loungers eager to minish and derogate

inferior rivals, cretins by comparison,

savages only lately from the jungle.

 

In my defense, mind you, I always perk up

whenever platters of pâté make the rounds

while cerebral types in cravats and vests

drone on about grants and fellowships, of

bureaucratic impedimenta and petty grievances

festering into molten hatreds

manifested as strongly-worded letters

the contents of which would stun your nana.

 

The olives or kabobs are often to die for,

yet hardly worth the suffocating hot air

fogging up mirrors and windows and dazing

even the most obsequious sycophants

adulating ad nauseum their didactic idols,

pedants only too anxious to expound.

 

Well, thank God for exits clearly marked

and all those adjacent porches and patios

where more than once I’ve sought respite,

nursing liquor under moon and stars

lofty but not haughty, humble in their way,

precious though unimpelled to parade as much,

exemplars modeling the lost art of the refined,

that fine distinction between shine and flash.

---

Brandon Marlon is a writer from Ottawa, Canada. He received his B.A. in Drama & English from the University of Toronto and his M.A. in English from the University of Victoria. His poetry was awarded the Harry Hoyt Lacey Prize in Poetry (Fall 2015), and his writing has been published in 250+ publications in 28 countries. www.brandonmarlon.com.