In the Red Room

Libby Holman, Ahmed Yakoubi, Paul Bowles

In the Red Room
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"Here's my message—
Everything gets worse."
—Paul Bowles
_________________

In December 1947—
I travelled to Fez and
met young Ahmed

A handsome teenager—
Ahmed Ben Driss el-Yacoubi
who only spoke Moghrebi

His parents were Cherifs—
direct descendants of Mohammed
trained in healing art known as Fqih

I fell deeply in love with him—
unfortunately I took him to USA
where he met heiress Libby Holman

Like so many other kept men—
gigolos and hanger-on’s, Ahmed
joined Libby Holman’s brothel

Like all the lovers who became—
denizens of Millionairess Betty Hutton
I lost Ahmed to American fast lane

But like so many traveling circus—
male concubines, he got dumped along
the way and came back to me

I told him to go back to Fez—
and live with his parents there
after he betrayed me so shabbily

He pleaded to stay in Tangiers—
and live with me which eventually
he did for twenty years or so
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And to think I could’ve rudely—
ended up like poor Sonny Gonzag
there in that Sri Lanka mansion

Forcing my poor aging parents—
Hannah and Dodd to sit there
in my own ghostly Red Room

Sitting in tall straight-backed—
uncomfortable chairs wedged
next to a secret scarlet bed

With three framed pictures—
hanging from the claustrophobic
walls concealing a murder

Libby Holman on the left—
me on the right and my dead
ex-lover Ahmed in the middle

I’d murdered him in a fit—
of uncontrollable jealousy
and vehement lover’s rage

I invited guests to sit—
and contemplate the sad
unspeakable crime with me

I didn’t tell the guests—
I shot both Libby and Ahmed
when I caught them in bed

I shot him in the head—
just as he was cumming and
then her between the eyes

They simply disappeared—
because I chopped them up
and fed them to the dogs

What people don’t know—
won’t hurt them my mother
always said & it’s so very true