Ballet Shoes Poem by David Lewis Paget

I'd known him since we were boys at school
So I let him in to the flat,
He wasn't known for playing the fool,
I knew him better than that,
But he carried a canvas under his arm
And he propped it up on a chair,
And said I needed to help him out
Could I keep the picture there?

I stood well back and surveyed the paint
It was oil, laid on with a knife,
Of a naked woman, with auburn hair
He said it was somebody's wife,
She lay at rest on a purple lounge
Had shaken her hair quite loose,
And all she wore on her wonderful form
Was a pair of ballet shoes.

‘Why do I need to keep it here? ' I said,
But I didn't mind,
Something about the woman's eyes
Said she was one of a kind.
‘Her husband visits me all the time
I wouldn't want him to see,
He doesn't know that she had it done
Or passed the picture to me.'

Marcus gave me a fleeting look
But still had the grace to blush,
I didn't want to embarrass him
Put fingers to lips, said ‘Hush! '
He left, but said that she might pop in
She'd want to inspect the place,
To find it suitable, that her skin
Was hanging in naked grace.

It took a week till she showed her face,
Came hurrying in at the door,
Her head was covered in widow's lace,
Announced herself as ‘Lenore',
I doubted that was her real name
But took her through to my den,
The nude hung high on the picture wall,
She stood and she said, ‘Amen'.

And then she turned and she looked at me
And she smiled as if approved,
Something about that smile, her eyes,
And I felt strangely moved,
‘Would you care to see the original, '
She said, and began to strip,
I couldn't mumble a word, my tongue
Was tied and set to trip.

She told me to look away until
Quite ready for my gaze,
I couldn't imagine what she did
It seemed to take for days,
I heard her shake out her auburn hair
Until well and truly loose,
And when I looked, she was naked but
For a pair of ballet shoes.

29 August 2016