Othello Was a Plumber

                 By Rudolph Lewis

Though he courted theater

with no exit and no ethics

he chose not the café chairs

jazz band & smoking tables

His audience believes nothing

like a jackal on the Serengetti

They say he’s a crying hyena

with a fountain pen, too wise

Footfall softly in a library

hopeless feelings in dark rain

of morning, the mind believes

in the promises of a pig in a poke

In a world of marxist butchers

it’s difficult to leave an idea on

the compulsive heap of history

mythic as Monticello retainers

He studies coded texts, side by

side, pianoforte, a new chapter

teases a showpiece of fireplaces

of  beginnings & daunting stairs

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