You could not call Sisson a cynic however – just clear eyed, seen too much to be an innocent romantic, though not at all world weary. He was also duly sceptical of his own profession of civil sercant:
'Here lies a civil
servant. He was civil
To everyone, and servant to the devil.'
Money
I was led into captivity by the bitch business
Not in love but in what seemed a physical necessity
And now I cannot even watch the spring
The itch for subsistence and having become responsibility.
Money the she-devil comes to us under many veils
Tactful at first, calling herself beauty
Tear away this disguise, she proposes paternal solitude
Assuming the dishonest face of duty.
Suddenly you are in bed with a screeching tear-sheet
This is money at last without her night-dress
Clutching you against her fallen udders and sharp bones
In an unscrupulous and deserved embrace.
CH Sisson
