Thursday 10 May 2018

She's the reason I wear pink shoes

This poem is for a friend of mine from way back, who I have lost touch with. Always remember her when I wear these.


She’s the reason I wear pink shoes

You should have seen the shop –
deep marine blue all over the front.

If her tan was good
she’d wear bright yellow

to make the contrast with the blue.
And she’d make sure her hair colour

was the correct shade of red,
real red, not auburn.

She sold teapots,
all white, with coloured dots –

blue, red, yellow, green.
And jugs for milk, butter dishes to match.

Cups, saucers and mugs in primary colours,
with spots and stripes.

Even her scrubbing brushes had colours –
red and green bristles shone out of willow baskets.

There were throws in autumn garb –
rust, Virginia creeper scarlet, acer and beech brown

and cushions to scatter like falling leaves.
Candles in all colours

some even rainbows,
with holders to match or contrast.

Customers touched things,
they couldn’t resist

picked them up
put them back askew.

A tight smile
a taut thank you as they left.

She’d wait until they had gone,
the door closed behind them

and she’d put everything back
where it should be

perfect

it was her favourite word.


*First published in The Writers’ CafĂ© Magazine, April 2018: