The theatre closed, grey Arlecchino
Spent his days knitting voluminous shawls.
Columbina had taught him, long ago,
As part of some absurdly complicated scheme
Requiring him to pass as a pretty girl
And flirt with Pantalone and The Captain.
Zuchino sold the shawls for him, stealing,
As was only right, most of the proceeds
Mondays they saw Pantalone in the nursing
home.
The Captain, to their surprise, had died well
Defending Brighella. Pierrot was dead also
But was too foolish to lie down. At midnight
Arlecchino would find him, singing voicelessly
To circles of strange lop-eared cats
And packs of skittish white dogs with red ear
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