Initial Impressions - 0160
Initial impressions of Anne: a portrait
here follows, as of that short trip I relate
in amateur adjectives alliterate,
as ever, in jest, the events I narrate.
'Rise six, arrive seven, I mustn't be late,
my meetings eleven, thereon turns my fate.
I mean to be early, I'm sure they won't wait;
rush, hurry to Roissy, take off is at eight!
At first all goes smoothly, check-in at the gate,
with only a briefcase, no baggage nor weight,
on tapis he passed me, has he too a date?
We're sitting apart while to board we await.
The minutes seem seconds while I concentrate
upon my good fortune and evaluate
alternate employment. The chances seem great
in corporate finance, no more to stagnate.
But minutes and seconds soon accumulate,
and others around us complain, remonstrate;
the plane is delayed, which my plans may frustrate.
I'm bored, chat while waiting, inside fulminate!
For nine-o'clock ticks while no immediate
signs of flight departure as yet emanate
from Air France, 'London's fog bound' so surly they state:
irate travellers round the desk congregate.
Then sounds of activity near indicate
an aircraft is ready, its engines vibrate,
quick, over to B.A., with inquiring gait
I fly, and he follows, to investigate.
Just four total strangers do not hesitate,
adroitly are able to anticipate
the Trident's departure, and seats relocate.
the others remain, though with rage radiate.
Ere onto the runway we accelerate,
we glance at each other, begin to relate.
I, Lady from Lanvin, groomed immaculate;
while he, what can he be, so weary, barbate?
I, Lady from Lanvin, groomed immaculate,
stylish exterior, career orientate,
yet deep down within me, a fleur feminate
seeks an exit to 'be', both to blossom, create!
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poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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