Being Beautiful In Stratford Upon Avon. Poem by Miki Byrne

Casually glancing
across the antipasto,
The salad, and gorgeous
Hip-broadening bread,
I saw him shining.

Lithe, young, styled to a point
Of negligent perfection.
He was reading
but only in pretence and
Food was not his priority.

As his raison d'être
was to be beautiful.
His poise was angular
As was his bed-head sculpted hair.
Eyes flicking left, right,
checking every chair

To see who else might sit
in this place to be seen,
As quietly ostentatious as he.
So reading through his script
he perched there resting

In the hope that some-one big-time
Might be investing in a production
That he could join.
Become the lead. Be broad of chest
And lean of loin.

For he was beautiful. In Stratford
And surely no-one could miss a flame
As bright as he
But that, as fate will dictate
Is to be or not to be.