Academic journal article Michigan Quarterly Review

The Ballad of Skye Maurois

Academic journal article Michigan Quarterly Review

The Ballad of Skye Maurois

Article excerpt

She opened the door of her hotel suite

and stared at the pointing gun,

then heard the voice of the steel-eyed blonde,

standing in the Paris sun.

"Don't say a word, just back inside,

and pour me some white champagne,

or I gladly punch a tidy tunnel

through your bloody brain."

And so, three blocks from the Eiffel Tower,

a mile from the Louvre,

they silently sat at the salon table

and neither made a move.

Ms. Skye was young and au courant,

and chic with drop-dead looks,

the lover of tenors, actors, and princes,

the author of tell-tale books.

"I'm sure you know I'm a wealthy woman,

my name is Skye Maurois;

I'll give you francs, this diamond pin,

and a bag of virgin snow."

But blondy smirked, "You look like me,"

sipping at her Rigot,

then off she pulled her yellow wig,

"but I am Skye Maurois!"

The impostor knew the jig was up,

she could hear the ticking clock,

but she sat content in the Paris sun

and ignored the pointing Glock.

"I saw your photo in Match one day,

and I knew that I could pass,

so I dumpster-dumped your place in Rome

then did the rest with class.

"I've been discrete, I'm sure you'll agree,

some parties, some jewels, some beaus,

some hotel suites, three trips to Cannes,

and some very sexy clothes."

But Skye just looked her up and down,

"Are you happy being me?"

The felon smiled, "Oh, yes, I am!

You're marvelous to be!"

"Then you can have it, everything!

but I think that you should know,

I stole that pretty name myself,

about six years ago. …

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