Tonight's Poet Corner: Alastair Aloysius

Alastair Aloysius
by Belinda Roddie

The man with two first names
fell in love with the woman
whose moniker glowed with cliché:
Rogue Valentine, a tattoo
of a lipstick kiss sticky
on the side of her neck.

They had bonded over a common goal
to draw and quarter the pompously
quadruple-named hero, the queen's
favorite: Sir

Lawrence Adley Howard Charlemagne,
the odor of his arrogance emanating
from every orifice of his admittedly majestic
figure. His two swords, both tucked away,
were equally as gleaming.

Rogue Valentine sought to woo the knight
who carried four names like extra weight
against his chainmail, but when she offered
wine spiked with just the right amount
of malice, he declined. He was not

a drinker - it did not suit his reputation.
Alastair Aloysius was fairly disappointed
by the state of affairs, and he suggested
that they call off the plan altogether.
Valentine refused, and that was only

mere minutes before their murderous
methods were discovered. Both were sent
to different cells. Both were sentenced
to die in different ways. Aloysius slept
with a bullet in his brain, his new last name
Traitor. And Valentine,

with the rope tightening below her jaw, hated
how the stain of her painted kiss was hidden
under the noose, her last semblance
of forced uniqueness concealed under
the rough texture of execution.