Napoleon's Hat

The emperor sits upon his rearing horse
the stage is draped with blood red curtains
his face is wooden
a puppet's face
his horse a statue
a theatrical prop
lacking even the grotesquerie of Guernica
lifeless as a ten franc piece.

This world is closed to us
a scene from high theatre
frozen, stylised movement
action without consequence
passionless
remote as a suburban street.

Napoleon's hat drifts above the scene
removed from the stage
a discarded relic
for he is just another lonesome cowboy
and his blood is cold,
cold as greasepaint when the curtain falls
the lights die
and the performance is over.