I’m sure you will be very happy with this bra, Madam,
she said, her manicure seriously red as she tapped the till.
Of course I did not ask her how she knew.
Who is rude enough to challenge the clairvoyant,
the diagnostician, the prognosticator?
But she was right. As soon as she folded up
the lacy garment—its ticket swinging insouciantly—
and handed it across the counter
in its raspberry-pink bag, my spirits rose.
Outside, traffic parted for me like the red Sea:
the sun appeared and gilded passers-by
who nervously returned y random smiles.
The days, the weeks, wore on in a numinous haze
of goodwill. Who knows why? Be cynical if you must:
I only record the sequence of events.
~ from Choosing to be a Swan (Bloodaxe Books, 1994)
