Enno saunters through the close,
with leather skirt and kohl-dark eyes,
a teardrop bag swung over-shoulder,
gibsoned clogs and frenched beret;
crazy patterned, some do say.
Nineteen or so? She'll grow no older;
lingeried in theatre flies;
in the wings, in soubrette's pose.
Her face is pale and urchin-bright
with nose tiptilted; double wings
of hair in blackbird curve reflecting
scattered light from corner signs.
Enno! When a young man pines
to seek her help while he's perfecting
courtship couth and other things,
will she retreat in shadowed light.
Promise of the aurum paving
Enno makes for country girls;
airbrushed blemishes no problem,
snap her fingers, ride high-rise.
Watch her as the dreaming dies!
Sorry women say she robbed them,
as temptation Enno whirls.
Is perhaps a lack their saving?
Enno is the stuff of lights,
and hush of vehicles in the rain;
coloured windows of the church,
the clack of smart stiletto heels,
waft of such exotic meals,
swift arrival of a train,
gleams of petrol that besmirch
the running water from the pipes.
Did you see her when you paused
for flashing lights at Quarter Street?
Was she silhouetted here
against graffitied walls of chance?
In kaleidoscopic glance?
Shadow of a knife-edged fear,
staccato tramp of running feet-
City sounds Enno's applause.
While the dealer flips a card,
casinos rake their tripled chips,
and Enno watches from the doorway
flashed mosaic, coloured bright.
Blink and turn you're in her sights;
step by step, you're walking her way,
following her swinging hips...
City spirit, tries too hard.
Yet, poor Enno, do not blame her,
though she beckons from the street,
through the alleyways she's calling,
"Walk me, take me, I'm the best."
Believe her promise? Fail a test,
while about you night is falling
in and out; hypnotic beat-
colour offers... yet we name her.
with leather skirt and kohl-dark eyes,
a teardrop bag swung over-shoulder,
gibsoned clogs and frenched beret;
crazy patterned, some do say.
Nineteen or so? She'll grow no older;
lingeried in theatre flies;
in the wings, in soubrette's pose.
Her face is pale and urchin-bright
with nose tiptilted; double wings
of hair in blackbird curve reflecting
scattered light from corner signs.
Enno! When a young man pines
to seek her help while he's perfecting
courtship couth and other things,
will she retreat in shadowed light.
Promise of the aurum paving
Enno makes for country girls;
airbrushed blemishes no problem,
snap her fingers, ride high-rise.
Watch her as the dreaming dies!
Sorry women say she robbed them,
as temptation Enno whirls.
Is perhaps a lack their saving?
Enno is the stuff of lights,
and hush of vehicles in the rain;
coloured windows of the church,
the clack of smart stiletto heels,
waft of such exotic meals,
swift arrival of a train,
gleams of petrol that besmirch
the running water from the pipes.
Did you see her when you paused
for flashing lights at Quarter Street?
Was she silhouetted here
against graffitied walls of chance?
In kaleidoscopic glance?
Shadow of a knife-edged fear,
staccato tramp of running feet-
City sounds Enno's applause.
While the dealer flips a card,
casinos rake their tripled chips,
and Enno watches from the doorway
flashed mosaic, coloured bright.
Blink and turn you're in her sights;
step by step, you're walking her way,
following her swinging hips...
City spirit, tries too hard.
Yet, poor Enno, do not blame her,
though she beckons from the street,
through the alleyways she's calling,
"Walk me, take me, I'm the best."
Believe her promise? Fail a test,
while about you night is falling
in and out; hypnotic beat-
colour offers... yet we name her.