Starlet

I will remember the day I met you,

that you made me special tea,

the badly washed-up mug unnoticed.

When I arrived with a friend

you were wearing men’s pyjamas,

and eating pancakes with a fork,

your face stopping me in my tracks.

From your tiny balcony

we smiled and pointed

across the dowdy roofscape

toward the lights and music that so beguile you.

Such fragile open beauty

an innocent beacon facing west,

in search of your tomorrows.

I shall tell others how we met

before the world knew you

and all your many faces.

 

 

© Graham Sherwood 8/2010