Prometheus: the return

And, best of all, my dearies
Casting a spell over
Our evening game
Of tennis.

The guillotined head
Of St. Denis now hovers
Like a boxing glove,
Casting a pall, just ahead

And over the plaintiff’s ball.
Meanwhile, the body rises and walks,
The left foot taking the first gander,

The right hand lighting a Lucky Strike fag,
As the gag order resounds like a blast
From (yeah) a muted post-horn, i.e. cag’s bugle.