The Rules of the Game (1939)
by Liz Robbins
Out in the Sologne stratosphere, the rich are like
the trimmed trees, beautifully stuck in pristine
Rabbits mating, pheasants mating. The rich wear
tweed, but have the help do the shooting. The mingling
of two whims, the contact of two skins. Field glasses
check the state of affairs.
Illusions are often more interesting than realities.
Women dress for dinner as for a harem or wake. Men
in bear suits, military garb, tuxes. Which the masquerade,
on or off stage?
Twelve animals, dead. The rich pair up and split, eat
the rabbits. The way out: sleeping pills, a train ticket.
Sex, a spiritual obligation?
The greenhouse’s warm wet. The awful thing about life:
everyone has their reasons. Here, where are children?