Wet-nosed tug on the leg of my skinny jeans
Kelly the Westie. ‘Where have you been?’
Holding a leash tight in your mouth…
Two-leg beg, come, take it, follow you south?
Through misty clouds of moving joy,
arched neons illuminate pawed route of pet’s ploy.
Grand building’s treble doors swing open…
‘Evening Sir! Do come in!’
Beckoning bow-tied bouncers point to delights within.
‘We treat everyone here like next of kin.’
A cream topped Guinness snugged my hand
walk through the lobby, hear the Big Band.
Glen’s ‘Moonlight Serenade’ haunts the hall,
diamond lights flash from the mirror-ball,
across the Ritz’s polished square
a new-met couple exchange shandy-sipped stares.
Foot-tapping beats like Ginger and Astaire
Into smouldering eyes they gaze
romantic, frantic, dance hall days.
Elegance cuts a rug with glee
no other place they’d rather be.
Bobbysoxed Mum with a Monroe demi-wave,
Dad in a Zoot suit and Brylcreamed D.A. *
looking the business as they each found ‘the one’.
In a flash I’m embraced, hugged, a welcomed son,
consumed by perfect peace, joy, a few seconds won.
Dad beams…Mum leans
to plant a kiss,
Deano croons… ‘Memories are Made of This.’
Her musky perfume sweetens the air
as she lovingly ruffles my curly-head hair,
placing a healing hand upon my brow,
I feel her essence, a wonderful ‘Wow!’
We speak but our lips don’t move in gear,
hard to grasp how I can be here.
Our little dog whispers…
‘Fear ye not,
a hit and run, coma’d blood clots.
They’re going to wake you up today,
these two gents will show the way.’
The doormen held me underarm
fed a shot of calming balm…
I protest and squirm to avoid the zap
of a conscious thought that rockets me back.
Ton heavy body on a hospital rack,
my Ladylove love-smackers on my head
a white coat says ‘We thought you were dead!
Three times the beep was a constant line,
plate in your skull, you’re gonna be fine.’
Half-smile forced as I crave to fly home…
Was it all a dream to record in my tome?
First words garbled… about the beautiful perfume,
they laugh as Zanizal wafts around the room.
Close leaded lids to dream, to sleep,
allow Mum’s Cote L’aimant to engulf and seep
through my soul, reassure my spirit
…we all are wandering, lights in transit.
My sail across to the shores of Styx
a glimpse inside a veiled matrix…
Not a poet-dreamers fantasy
but a postcard view of what is to be.
*…..Zoot suit…hip suit of the day.
*….D.A…………’Ducks Arse’….slicked back ‘Teddy Boy’ hairstyle where the back looked like a ducks rear end!
Write poems of all genres, particularly narrative writes about people, life events and the world we live in. Haikus and Tankas when I can. Like short stories too, a little drama and monologue works also in my stuff. Reside in the Dark Kingdom of Lancashire, England.