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In Memory of Monte Carlo, by Jon Guyett.
In remembrance of the hundreds of secret suicides in Monte Carlo.
Born on all Fools
And still playing its tricks
Its glitz, its shine
Its lack of crime
Ha! Blink and you'll miss it!
Its thrills and spills and exponential yachts
Dollars and euros like an urban fox
Hunt through the night
Among the lights, sprites and felt table fights
That mask its past
And chequered history
Back then awash with trial and misery.
Let us not forget
Before the wars came twice
And the odds got less
Thousands flocked to chance their debts
To play their wage in hope for glory
And trust their lot would buck the story
But those who lost
Or for whom hope
In the moment
Was beyond discovery
Chose to end their years
And escape life's whoring
By stepping off from atop their boarding
And come crunching down
To be no more
Save another line in the secret morgue
To be carried out on a boat at night
Weighted down and tipped alight
What's left a residue on the hotel skirting
The power, the lust, the loss, the hurting
All washed away
Like a night-time's flirting
With the city's curves
And its fabled cornering.
And all to seem like there was no curtain.
Today the roads are refined but still loudly roaring
As the imported taxless all boast their hoarding
And play away
Bright and gay
Kept safe so they'll roll another day
Bet three win two, then tip a few
Who really cares when the sea's so blue?
And the money thick like a clogging glue
That crams the pockets of the chosen crew.
But what time until the secret's through?
Of the sunken men who gave the sea its hue?
Of the past and its lessons long since due?
While the rich still rush for a room with that view?
Try telling that to those who glisten
Instead they turn and smile and chink
And swirl the ice cubes in their drink
As they shelter from the morning sun.
Who are we to try and spoil their fun?
Fresh day, fresh friends, fresh round of drinks
Born on All Fools
And for those happy few
Still playing its tricks.
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