A Newly Tinted Blonde

Rain washed the cobbles

And polished the stone.

The neon glare from the salon

Lent a pallor as death.

The Salon door opened,

Prompting a tinkling bell.

A newly-tinted blonde,

Let out by the hairdresser,

Clacked along the pavement,

Plastic umbrella up.

Sisters probably,

Thought the man,

Looking on from the other side.

As he looked,

The neon lights went out.

Extinguishing the view,

But another woman,

From his side,

From the cottages,

All shadow.

Umbrella up,

Glided to her front gate near to,

And crossed the road,

Making her way to town,

Just like him,

Stepping out of his car,

Hunch-backed against the rain,

Heading to the bright lights,

Just like her.

And when he got to the corner,

Music came to him,

And he saw a hall,

And climbed concrete steps,

The hall's doors were open,

And he saw a couple dancing,

The man black-suited,

She in a flowery dress,

Dancing to an old scratchy tune,

Played on an old record player.

And he saw a woman seated by,

She turned,

Aware of him standing there,

And smiled.

A Kaleidoscope,

At his feet detained him,

Rain-washed words,

“For Valour”,

He knew those words,

And stood still for a moment,

Stiffly silent.

And said to the woman,

"There's a Victoria Cross here!"

She nodded.

Back in his car,

Stiffly silent,

The Salon dark,

The cottages dark,

The man thought his thoughts,

And eventually said,

"So much for this town",

"So much for its heroes",

And switching on his lights,

Drove off.

The woman, meanwhile,

Threw a kiss,

To the rain-wet slab,

In memoriam,

To a soldier,

© 2024 R. Frank Wilson