upstairs downstairs

i push the button

to have my butler, Gerald,

come up

and bring me coffee

and toast.

the sunday morning paper.

i think he's

having an affair

with the french maid.

he has lipstick on his face

and his shirt is unbuttoned.

i get it though.

when you work this

closely with people

things are bound to happen.

i tell him

raison toast, please.

and he says, yes sir.

and oh, i say, pointing,

at his waist,

pull your zipper up 

and tell

Francine

we need to talk.