SN ( / )

My Mother's Suitors

have come to court me
have come to call oh
yes with their wonderful world
war two moustaches their long
stem roses their cultivated
accents (they're English aren't they
at very least they're educated-Scots) .
They are absolutely au fait with menu-French
they know the language of flowers
& oh they'd die rather than send a dozen yellow
they always get them right & red.
Their handwriting on the florists card
slants neither too much to the left or nght.
They are good sorts.
They have the profile for it –
note the not too much nose
the plenty chin. The
stockings they bring have no strings
& their square
capable hands are forever
lifting your hair and gently
pushing your head away from them
to fumble endearingly at your nape
with the clasp of the pretty heirloom
little necklace they know their
grandmother would have wanted you to have.
(Never opals - they know
that pearls mean tears) .
They have come to call & we'll all
go walking under the black sky's
droning big bombers
among the ratatat ofack-ack.
We'll go dancing & tonight
shall I wear the lilac, or the
scarlet, or the white?

by Susanna Narváez

Other poems of NARVÁEZ (1)

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