– My Poems (3)
Hot long days and water fights,
We three young graces
Playing chasing games
With the French girls in their bustiers
Bound firmly in place with multiple straps.
Girl guides' blouses bursting out all over.
He couldn't be trusted with a map on the moor.
And the swans swam on
As the Chelsea pensioners
In their crimson coats
Overlooked the Eton mess of my
Tiny Turquoise polka dot triangles,
Tied up with string,
And the streaks of freckles on my
Sore pink limbs.
Dad had them when they were
Tiny flat strapless blobs
Beneath the turquouse 'honey' top.
Was it Mum's turquoise stone ring,
Indicating the way with its evil eye?
Pointing to an impression of his palm
In his mind's eye?
And planning to traverse the corridor
To trespass upon me?
© Patricia Goldberg 2021