[poetry]: Darcy

by (c) Nin Harris 2013

White shirt, green lake;
an image etched in the vision
of many would-be Lizzies enthralled by
dark curls and introspective eyes that
flash across your screen, accompanying tea at 5pm
followed by a dinner of asam pedas and rice.
Wet plastered against white cotton
and on powerpoint slides in lecture halls;
inducting a new crop to the creed
of genteel and governed love.
I smile over clenched teeth
and tell them over tea and tapioca cakes that I am like Darcy
because my good opinion, once lost is lost forever.

*

Perhaps I will be punished by
a Lizzie Bennet in a man’s form.
Perhaps, I will treat him to an awkward proposal
that despite my better judgement…
…which he will then spurn with heaving chest
and moral indignation at not being
marked a superior and highly amiable species,
like Keira Knightley in a tropical downpour
wailing his wounded anguish to the overcast skies.

*

This is before he is wooed by
bounteous estates, and massive tracts of land.
My worldly possessions
and tasteful collections will merit praise
moreso than my lordly demeanour,
introverted arrogance , and mordant wit.
He will fall in love with the lustrous green
of moneyed gardens and the white sheen
of Grecian artefacts.
Of course, quite naturally,
a wet white shirt will clinch the deal.