Showgirl

An inner-city Christmas scene
- though scarcely the Nativity -
three women on a kerbside bench,
one in a dress of tiered chiffon,
narrow nineteen-twenties pleats
in silver grey, with pewter shoes
and tasselled bag of gilt lame;
just that hint of decollete,
gold glinting at wrist and throat,
sleek coiffure of honey-blonde
coiled in a snail behind one earlobe,
tres aimable et tres soignee,
a showgirl bound for the Palais -
the rig perhaps a tad too young,
exposing skin aged by the footlights
or the sun, four decades on, mais
c'est la guerre, mes cheres amies...
 
She is chatting avidly with two
dowdy companions. I slink past
in drab garb of much the same vintage.
Mais quel courage! She doesn't care
what year it is, or maybe doesn't
even know, but hasn't lost her instinct
for the circus carousel, the show...

25.12.08


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