V. G. Lee
Old Dot
Lord knows what goes on in your head, old Dot
or whatever you did but you're everyone's favourite now.
My own idea, is for you to die with music in the background,
I'd like to think, deep down, under the layers
you've concocted these last few years you'd see yourself
as a young princess walking in a wood near your father's castle.
Listen to me; you wear a Spanish farthingale, tight bodice,
high fanned collar. What colour? Watchet - a greenish blue-
think of the sea. You're a lovely woman under an autumn sky,
white clouds streaming like your hair does now.
Huge orange and red leaves fly with you,
wind at your back, ballooning your stiffened skirt. Yes,
you can hear music - it beckons you from inside the castle
or does it come from down in the sunken garden?
Sound of canaries. Your bruised hands twitch -
don't worry, the bruises are fading. Flex your fingers,
see the rings - the amethyst and birthstone opal
that never brought you luck.
or whatever you did but you're everyone's favourite now.
My own idea, is for you to die with music in the background,
I'd like to think, deep down, under the layers
you've concocted these last few years you'd see yourself
as a young princess walking in a wood near your father's castle.
Listen to me; you wear a Spanish farthingale, tight bodice,
high fanned collar. What colour? Watchet - a greenish blue-
think of the sea. You're a lovely woman under an autumn sky,
white clouds streaming like your hair does now.
Huge orange and red leaves fly with you,
wind at your back, ballooning your stiffened skirt. Yes,
you can hear music - it beckons you from inside the castle
or does it come from down in the sunken garden?
Sound of canaries. Your bruised hands twitch -
don't worry, the bruises are fading. Flex your fingers,
see the rings - the amethyst and birthstone opal
that never brought you luck.
V G Lee lives in Hastings and has published a novel, The Comedienne.
Page(s) 8
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