The Belt

In memory of G.M.P.
Miami, Florida, 1942.
For S.J.E.

The second summer after my dad died
Mom introduced to us a man she liked.
He wore a see-through belt that mystified
        Giggling, Mom said, “You are really ‘psyched’.”
He pulled it from his keepers and he let
me wrap it twice round mine . . . I peeped through it —
it sniffed a little like a cigarette.
I gave it back.  Round him, it truly fit.
Next time he came he wore a plain black belt . . . .
Big Sis unwrapped a ‘brooch’, and I a see-
through belt like his!  It fit! 
                                               Mom said, “Real svelte,
                    Chuckling deeply, he said, “Oui!”
“But where is yours?”  I gazed in his brown eyes.
“Around your waist.  I had it cut to size.”

Leland Jamieson

If you have any comments on this poem, Leland Jamieson would be pleased to hear them.

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