Filofax
Sophie calls me, her words are slurredand she announces that she loves me,
she doesn't of course, that would be weird
and I tell her so, I can hear pausing
to take a drag from her cigarette.
Sophie from the filofax days
who hated the rest of us
and tapped her scarlet nails at reunions
and snuggled up close to Pierre.
Yoshi would wind her up to a frenzy,
I couldn't be bothered,
I too was easing myself away
and for a time, between lovers
and husbands I successfully held
them all at bay, except Yoshi
his impossibly long legs
always covered that distance
and if I didn't answer phones
or acknowledge penned missives
he would appear, marching over
the sea, a Finn McCool I would tease
and take me out for dinner
or buy champagne and cushions
just to ease the fall from one
disaster to the next.
He rallied the others to come
to concerts that I had kept quiet about.
But now I have slightly sodden Sophie
on the phone and I can feel the hurt
but there is nothing I can do
just tell her that tomorrow will be better
and just forget about the rest of us
'but you are so aloof' she cries
and I sigh, I wish she didn't smoke
they punctuate her sounds,
so I invite her to lunch
and leave a number
that I know she will forget
the next day will come soon enough
and this will be between us
and no one else
even Yoshi won't know
and bastard Pierre
well hopefully his manhood
will have been squashed
between the pages
of a 90's filofax.
Poetry by Elle
Read 864 times
Written on 2016-06-04 at 20:38
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