Friday 22 November 2013

#45 - Victorian Heroines On Crack

Crinoline swiss-cheesed with burn marks
hangs about their thighs like antimacassars.
'I would have another taste,' says Constance,
grasping for the pipe. She sits
upon an upturned tea chest from the Indies,
having not a stick of furniture left;
the sun blurs through lacey meshes
like the three golden balls of the pawnbroker.

Gentlemen callers rap upon the front door
and leave their cards amongst notices from baliffs,
but the ladies are quite bored of suitors,
preferring to repose where the sunlight
warms the floorboards, reaching for the companion set
to brush ash from their petticoats.

No comments:

Post a Comment