The Death of Merat

I leave the auction sick, my mettle frayed A ghost, I fear, in oil clutched near my side No doubt, a ghost for which I've dearly paid! How best to next proceed, I must decide The painting I have bought portrays a man laid out upon a bed as if he sleeps A woman stands beside the low divan Offhand, I'd guess a mistress that he keeps I recognize the bloke who's laying prone A classless dog and local alley cat His past and family folk remain unknown but those with whom he spoke called him "Merat" I peer more closely at the racy scene; Beside Merat, a pool of crimson red The woman's face is cool, if not serene, quite out of place, considering the bed! I take my time in staring at the girl, and make an observation I can't bear my hands begin to shake, the air to swirl, for that's my naked wife who's painted there! As I trudge home, it's hell that fills my head and passing by a doorsill with a bin, I tell myself it's I who will be dead if I don't shove the dreadful painting in My mind is blank as I bypass the stairs and free from fear of my assassin wife, I steer my thoughts past murder and affairs, then pull her near and thank her for my life