The Watteau Wind
Blew all the candles out, set things rattling
When Joe tried to relight them his fingers seized up
As if they had done wrong and maybe they had.
A great moon fell down in the pantry bump!
The servants scurried to mop up the milk of it
Their wooden pattens made such a din
Girls scream so when plashed with the cosmic.
That woke the lady Maja who rolled in her bed
Out into the blackened sky, like the ashes of roses
Like the song that Joe sang down in the parterre
When he should never have been there
And neither should she, in her mask
In her crippling shoes from Genoa
And her gown of gray-pink paduasoy
Some fête galante , the painting’s over.
Veronica Aldous 2016 All Rights Resreved