An Islamic Epitaph Carved On Stone Near A Newly Buried Grave (Cairo to Sussex, 1997)

I. Never wonder that my father gathered his splendid near-Eastern treasures as a Moroccan or Egyptian white slave trader and gunrunner.

II. For even Rimbaud himself abandoned the ornamented balconies and scarlet boulevards of Paris
Stopped writing poetry at age 19
And sailed a drunken boat to North Africa to sell warfare, whiskey, and women.

III. I saw Rimbaud's ghost at a gin joint in Casablanca and I was so scared that I spilled cappuccino over my newspaper.

IV. The headlines were shouting that Princess Grace of Monaco had crashed her Lola-Ferrari or something and died there (was it on the streets of Monte Carlo?)

V. (Maybe it was on that wicked turn that runs through Cassino Square on race day) I remember Ayrton Senna died on a Grand Prix turn like that at San Marino.

VI. One morning I was sampling scones and Chinaman's Brew at the tea corner in Harrod's after December's I.R.A. bomb scare had faded.

VII. A greek girl who said she was the daughter of Aristotle Onasis (she was from a port city like ATHENS or Messina or someplace) Well, she gave me a shooting script for a movie about two British runners who challenge in the 1928 Olympic Games.

VIII. Anyhow, as I'm sitting there, sipping tea and dreaming about "Grand Prix" films honors at Cannes, along comes this beautiful blushing blonde blue-eyed and somewhat ruddy-faced woman slightly frantic because she left her handbag on the white marble walkway outside Kensington Palace or maybe near the polished black backgate at Buckingham.

IX. And of course we jetted off to Paris and we stayed at the Ritz Hotel and sped away in a Mercedes pursued by paparazzi photographers on motorcycles made in Venice, Naples, and Milan (La Dolce Vita)...

X. And when so suddenly our driver swerved and crashed and we horribly spun to rest
I said goodbye to my Princess
And walked away past the photographers and the wreckage
And over to a man who was dressed all in white and who spoke Arabic and said that he was taking me to see Allah.

A farewell to LA DOLCE VITA (the sweet life)

William James O'Fahey, III

From January, 2001 issue