Du Maurier
Remembering when we used to buythose flat packets of
Du Maurier cigarettes,
they fit in a music case,
no tell tale bulge,
we'd sit on the steps
after classes as someone
would always start
to hum a song,
Remi on the harmonica
Alix with his banjo,
a flute and of course
our voices pure
sometimes smokey,
as we closed eyes in
late afternoon sunshine
attracting a crowd
our limbs long and brown.
The time on the metro,
just a few of us.
It was hot that summer,
we wore Bikini tops under t-shirts,
a silly summer fashion
of ra ra skirts and boob tubes
that never stayed in place,
a safety pin in case and of course
a packet of Du Maurier cigarettes,
svelte and red, handy for a hip pocket
a young grape rounded and ready.
Remi played harmonica
Alix with his banjo
our sepia pictures curling
like the smoke of long ago.
Poetry by Elle
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Written on 2014-05-04 at 17:53
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