(This is a piece written with my favorite audio-book narrator Simon Vance as my muse.)

I try to think back to how it began

to the moment I was the putty in his hand

words in a timbre that’s fit to command

I fall down at the sound of a word from this man…

a naturally true spoken certainty

inherent to a Gentleman’s legacy

a smooth tone driving home Life’s mysteries

the drone I’ve come to know so well in my sleep…

at some point, I fell heavily and hit head on

the final moments of my beloved Sydney Carton

my very own Sherlock Holmes and John Watson,

the U.S.S. Terror and the late Sir John Franklin…

The humbled Prince in a Tolstoy tale

the tiny fangs and iridescent fingernails

like a sponge I absorb, until I inevitably swell

the “James Bond accent” that’s got me chasing my tail.