Party like it's 19 eighty war.
In 1936 he saw her in a strapless
green
ball gown.
She held her head like a queen.
Features supernaturally refined.
Under the glitter ball.
Clutching an evening bag.
She captured the sparkle and polished it.
Her feet fidgeting to the rhythm.
Itching for a dance.
Her eyes a dancing delight.
Red lips close to her friend's ear.
Whispering hopes for the dance.
The time for romance was near.
She was light headed.
Her heart high.
Hips humping the beat.
Her head spinning with promises and stories...
A million miles away on the No. 73...
down a cobbled side street in the East End...
leaned her mum's bomb ripped two up two down.
Teaming with kids.
Smelling of toast and slippers.
Her dad nodding by the hearth.
Her brother's in uniform smiling in black and white above washing steaming on a rack.
Why wouldn't she say 'yes, cause I'll dance.'
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device
Friday, 12 November 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)

No comments:
Post a Comment