To Paulette by Brian Clark
Where are my red shoes? I need them because, because
The yellow brick road leads over the Downs
To Lewes, one of the prettiest of Sussex towns
Where I’m meeting our very own Wizard of Oz.
The typhoon, now called the jet stream, a curse
Because of the weather it brought, turns out to be blessed.
The Boeing broomstick whooshed PP from the West
To here, the caff’s irreplaceable Mother and Nurse.
God knows how she finds the time for us all, the web site,
Removing Fyadora’s barbs, and then there’s her art,
(Now packed in hundreds of boxes on the doily cart.)
But please, find a place to carry this thought on your flight:
Paulette, we love you, sad as you’re whisked away,
But not from our hearts; there you’ll always stay.