She turned up here on my doorstep
Completely out of the blue,
She didn’t say where she was coming from
Or where she was going to,
She carried a single paperback
And I think it carried his name,
I tried to see, but she held it back,
The book had a title, ‘Shame!’

I should have been warned by that single word
And barred the girl at the door,
She didn’t say, or I never heard
Just what she was looking for,
She stepped inside, and pushed me away
And walked with a silent tread,
Along the hall where the stairway lay
And muttered just one word, ‘Bed’.

She found the room on the upper floor
That saw the occasional guest,
With a single bed and a counterpane
And a walnut, inlaid chest.
She went to bed and she fell asleep
Nor even kicked off a shoe,
I stood perplexed on the landing there
Not knowing what I should do.

I waited for her till she awoke
Then headed her off at the stairs,
‘What did you mean by coming here
Our guests are often in pairs.’
‘I meant to challenge your friend, my ex,
He left me mired in pain,
You well should know him, his name is Rex,
He wrote this novel called ‘Shame!’

Then Rex had entered and faced the stair
And she rushed into his arms,
If I’d known better, or been aware
I might have raised the alarm.
The book flew open, revealed a knife
Secreted into its pages,
And she had stabbed him, not once, but twice
Revealing one of her rages.

Rex was lying so still, and cold
We held her down on the floor there,
‘Are you quite crazy,’ I tried to scold,
But she had cut her own throat there.
A pool of blood spread across the floor
And mingled there from the lovers,
I swore right then I would bolt my door
Deny all entry to others.

David Lewis Paget