John Gielgud was pissed off
that he died the same day as
Beloved Barbara Cartland.
A dignified ending completely ruined.
The best review he would ever have
sharing the obituary page with
a writer of romances.
No-one of Shakespeare's stature.
No Miranda in her cast. Richard III,
or I or II for all that matter,
wouldn't acknowledge her heroines.

I can just see him
hiding in the black tie queue
for the Dress Circle of Heaven
head buried in the program
pretending that he doesn't know her.
Standing back so that she wouldn't
claim him as a friend. His agent
really blew it this time. He'd seem so
ordinary beside that splendid vision pink.
Enough to qualify her as an angel
straight away. As if They'd argue.
The media would lap it up. He'd only
rate a footnote. One that emphasised
his age. Perhaps though
there might still be a way. He'd fail
a screen test for the first time ever
and be forgotten
just the way he wanted it
in peaceful Hell.

© Carolyne Bruyn