I'm not going to lie, I didn't think I was going to make it through the poem today. While it may seem like I have hours and hours of time to frivel (is that a word? The verb form of frivolous? Well, I have a degree in English Language so consider it COINED) away, that isn't always the case. I'm a well serious writer me, with a job and everything, and this week has turned out to be rather busy. So I make no apologies for the strangeness of this piece. I feel like it's more of a two parter - I'm leaving you on a cliffhanger...OOOOOOO! Aren't I AWFUL?! Yes, in many ways I am. But aren't we all?
DAY 16 POEM BY MARIANNE:
Upon disembarking the aircraft,
it was decided that we should
take luncheon on the runway.
Life is lived by the caboose
and we weren’t about to forget it.
The cold hard fist of the morning
had just broken open, showering us
with the long fingers of the sun.
Luncheon consisted of lightly battered egos
and a good selection of tapas;
we were growing more continental
with every minute that engulfed us.
Soon the white cliffs would be nothing more
than an infamous smudge of ice cream
across a naughty schoolboy’s sweater.
“I say,” I said. “Isn’t that Margot?”
And so it was. She floated across the tarmac
like some hideous dream of Hollywood,
waving and laughing for the paps
(also an ancient word for “breast”).
“Raspberries!” Margot said, ruffling
her turgid white hair with a neat,
leather-bound hand. A small key,
no bigger than a pine nut, fell out
and landed next to my foot.
Margot winked, like a jazz baby
is bound to do, and I leant down to retrieve it.
Before I could ask what it opened,
Margot was swept up on the wing of a plane
bound for St Moritz.
“Be careful with that,” said Wilkes.
“Life is all about opening a cupboard
and finding an old jar of cinnamon
when all you wanted was dried parsley.
Why not consider growing your own herbs?”
“Wilkes,” I said. “If I didn’t know better,
I’d say you were in love with old Margot.”
Wilkes turned into a sun blushed tomato.
Naturally I ate him and thought nothing of it.
But what of this dratted key, I ask you!