Without Rhyme Or Reason
In Remembrance of La Crème de Menthe
In remembrance of La Crème de Menthe,
Sipped from quiet long stemmed glasses
In noisy, pseudo sophisticated bars,
Somewhere in the seventies,
She thinks…
If memory serves her well,
He, of the tailored suit,
And the pale blue predatory eyes
A smile, albeit convincing,
Yet conniving …
He thinks….
She will succumb; she is ripe, naïve,
He, of the yachting set,
The gleaming white Triumph Spitfire
An irresistible combination,
He smiles…
And knowingly, she smiles too,
His misguided certainty worn with elegant ease,
She sips from the long stemmed glass,
His taste un-acquired…
She leaves….
A lifetime later, she writes,
Of somewhere in the seventies,
Of Mr. Suave,
And in remembrance of La Crème de Menthe!
Linda Stuart Harnett, ©2010
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In Remembrance of La Crème de Menthe
In Remembrance of La Crème de Menthe
