“Round
up the usual suspects.” Thus
Captain
Renault saved your ass. And yet
weren’t
we
the-usual-suspects,
the
adulterous cats on the run, rounded
up
at
the cul-de-sac of our movie,
and bagged?
Wasn’t
I
put
away,
sent
across
the ocean, via
Lisbon,
to serve a
life sentence as the (not so) good wife,
leaving me to
pork
down
memory
lane?
And didn’t
they frame you, force
you
to play the
free-lance war hero, contented
in that all-
male-
world,
instead of my
undercover cuckmaster?
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