re POEM 2

Eloise

Scents of Identity

Sachet-blonde

hair gelled

in signature boy-band

style

permanent pout

peeks

from apricot

lips.

She is dressed

in French-chic,

a replica of haute

couture;

as if she’s walked

off a Chanel show

in Paris;

her glassy stare

through severe designer

frames catches my gaze

briefly as she unzips

knee-

length

pointy boots…

balanced on one foot,

then the other

she slips both off,

before sauntering

towards the kitchen area,

hollering: “teas, coffees…”

in thick Mancunian twang;

a togged-up faux-pas

of cultural conundrum –

she is no different from moi.

Catherine Mark