silk ribbons, bought by the yard
on the market stall.
My son plays the piano.
All that’s missing is gaslight.
11 June 2008
I managed to squeeze this one into a tanka too (see previous poem). I seem to be churning stuff out at the moment: it probably means I'm sacrificing quality for quantity, but I can't stop myself! I originally just called it "Hairbands", but didn't like that, and wanted something that reflected the "olden days". I rejected "Victoriana" and "Harking Back" and "Time Travel", but I don't really like the current title either. Any ideas?
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