There is a band of light
Where they huddle
A polite distance from one another
The Platform Girls
Staring out into the dangerous expanse
Of blackened concrete engulfed in shadow
The one with Top Shop ready legs
Tight-laced into hypodermic heels
And spray painted with the latest fashion
Watches, envious
Of the lady dressed in
Classic urban elegance
Wearing married money
Carved in stone upon her finger.
They do not see her
Who is hung heavy in heartache
Skilfully blending
Into the battered background
Knee deep
In Tolstoy and Brontë
They are watching the woman in red
Sashay past
Curves tipping the scales
And turning the world
22 sizes of perfect
Repressed under the weight
Of 40 years
Of glossy lies.
S J Menary
21/01/2015.