Secret Is Out Poem by gershon hepner

The secret is out, dear, at last,
as secrets will always be out;
you’ve learned what I’ve done in the past,
and the lies that I’ve told you, no doubt.
You know of the skeletons lying
in cupboards that I have kept locked;
when you thought that my love was undying
you said that my poetry rocked,
but now that you’ve learned I’ve been cheating
and know all the details I’ve hidden
of other dear charmers I’m meeting
for pleasures that you have forbidden,
I know that you won’t care to read what
I’ve written to win you right back,
since you’ve disagreed that I need what
my appetite says that I lack.


Inspired by WH Auden’s “At Last the Secret is Out”

At last the secret is out,
as it always must come in the end,
the delicious story is ripe to tell
to tell to the intimate friend;
over the tea-cups and into the square
the tongue has its desire;
still waters run deep, my dear,
there's never smoke without fire.

Behind the corpse in the reservoir,
behind the ghost on the links,
behind the lady who dances
and the man who madly drinks,
under the look of fatigue
the attack of migraine and the sigh
there is always another story,
there is more than meets the eye.

For the clear voice suddenly singing,
high up in the convent wall,
the scent of the elder bushes,
the sporting prints in the hall,
the croquet matches in summer,
the handshake, the cough, the kiss,
there is always a wicked secret,
a private reason for this.

Gershon Hepner 6/1/05