A Suburban Reflection
Too soon, too soon summer weather
here in leafy Surrey
punching into countless newly clipped lawns
and budding clematis
where
old money and militaristas
engage in high hedged protectionism
and walls reveal their dreary trappings
and horsey tack hangs on walls
alongside fading 'Desidratas'
presented on cheap copper plates.
As May shifts gear and roses pop
far too early, each morning old ladies
of both sexes place their bums
in expensive deckchairs and
complain about the stock market
and the falling price of Kuala Lumpa
rubber,
as planes jetting not so far above
joyfully drown insipid conversations,
whilst
aromas of fried bread, eggs and bacon
drift through manicured shrubs and Monkey trees
reminiscent of a nostalgic soporific,
greasing all those assets of bodily ease.
Here the home is a sanctum,secluded
between Laura Ashley fabrics and
third rate paintings they consider valuable
as nearby their first class chariot,
the South East train, with constant platform
announcements,
delivers them to all points, Farnham, Woking, Surbiton
and Waterloo which has a urinal odour
blending well with Starbucks coffee
and wafting Wendy Burgers.
On somwhere mounts a woman with
coiffered hair dyed hair and a hole
in her tights, blinking rapidly beneath mascara
and the full weight of naval lashes. Her sexual
attraction blew like old leaves along
a deserted platform.
Her trappings, her smile said feed me
but I could not even with whiskey on my breath,
as she drank from a golden glass, her eyes
like peacocks using her powder puff and
lots of other decorative female stuff.
She was what she was-a fading beauty maybe
but once she must have had
the wings of an angel and
known the heavenly stars of a suburban sky
whereby warm winds bring together
men and women
leaving behind
inhibitions and complex care.
Free Forum Hosting
Important Announcement
First 
