Dear Penelope Tree,
I wish I were you and you were me,
So, in the heat of Carnaby Street in 1963,
When the cabs and salesgirls
Gawp
At monochrome-dramatic billboard dreams
And the synaptic circuits fire green,
Like blinking traffic arrows pointed
In your darling direction,
It would instead be me
Crowned celluloid queen,
Winsome paper dolly supreme,
Saucer-eyed juvenile party cream,
In dryadic, moon-white polyester.
And in the cafe collision crises,
Of cigarette cyclist and bubble car –
Outside, on the lunch-hour terrace –
That turns heads sour,
Mascara manic
And skin into a greasy, lipstick-red
Pavement kiss,
Witnesses would scream,
Not for him or you, but me,
“Kill me, but make me beautiful.”
This is my billets doux,
A 21st Century reject’s valentines verse
For the girlsoul wedged
Between gelatin and fixer,
Flash and frame –
A shadow sexily
Smiling between two worlds.
You could be the anonymous head
In my cameo pendant, Penelope,
Carved with diadem and frill.
You’ve still got the potential to thrill,
With hands in a forever groping
Slow ballerina pantomime.
Ellena Deeley is a native of Pontypridd, South Wales. She is currently studying English Literature at the University of Exeter and has had her work published in the university arts magazine as well as several other online publications.