Traditional Norms

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:

The Key

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!