Frequenter of smokescaped dens
from Limehouse to Shanghai. Gatekeeper
to Rococo dreams and fork tongued
terrors. Flapper in loose fit crepe de chine,
with a habit she'll never kick.
Close to the churchyard
yew, thriving on bonemeal
and ash. Act two of Giselle
Lily of the Valley
Where the lawn meets shade,
a conference of jilted brides.
Minute Miss Havishams
withering in white.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Stephen Bone
would be pleased to hear them.