Monday, 6 January 2014


It has always been
My Achilles' heel.
The sort of skin
That just won't tan,
Will just redden
Flake and peel,
And take bloody ages
To heal.

So forget about Summer,
Or plans to lie and slumber
Under the tropical sun;
I´ve always had to shelter
Under broad-brimmed hats
And parasols and things like that.
And I made rather a point
Of claiming
It wasn't necessity
That made me hide:
It was pure
Unadulterated style!

So I wore my wide black hat
Like a girl from a Fellini movie,
And a red lipstick to match
The fleeting highlights
In my dark hair;
And pretended
My languid
Fopping around 
On chaise-longues
Was a mission statement:
It was where I,
As woman-art,
Was at.

Honestly I rather like that bit.
I really do have a passion
For chaise-longues...
(and crystal chandeliers,
and long black satin gloves,
opera-length pearls,
and red wine,
and deep-pile
silk velvet,
and fast living,
and men with slow 
gentle hands)
unlike fumbling
stumbling Priam

I think this conversation
Has actually gone
A little too far?
All I was supposed
To talk about
Was my Achilles' heel
And why I peel;
Not make all these
"Really, darling!
Who gives a shit"

Oh but now that
We're on to that?
One last thing-
I wear mink.

Manuela Cardiga

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