Lessons in Futility

At a fifties style dining set

we chatted…

Often… as I recall.

I never liked the pea green mixed with chrome;

it always seemed wrong to me.

Even with only 9 years of fashion sense

I knew ugly when I saw it.

But you, you were an anomaly.

Something I couldn’t quite understand.

With well kept, short chestnut waves tucked

neatly about your head and curled in just the right places,

through ebony horned rimmed glasses you gazed at me.

With pursed perfectly painted lips you took a drag from

your cigarette and sipped your coffee with the best of them.

Like a dark after market version of the Sandra Dee doll who

was robbed of the benefits that good genetics bestow,

you wore your slim waistline, modest bosom, and lack of hips

well in your tea length dress with its alluring sway, that drew

my eyes right to your sturdy pumps that took swift strong steps.

I wondered if you cleaned the house like this…

and why you always hurriedly dismissed me right

before your husband came home?

As a grownup I have my suspicions, but back then

I was quite happy to trek through our trailer park in the ghetto

to space #9 where a woman I knew only as Marion

would transport me to another place and time.



Copyright 11/2013

Dani Heart



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