My Mother And Stockings Of Others Poem by Alexandro Johns

They were the fifties.
My mother worked repairing
Nylon stockings at evenings.
Tic toc, the manual needle in sordine
Was coming to me between dreams.

My mother smoked cigarettes while working
'Particulars' was it brand,
She preferred the variety 'cork'
Instead of 'amber'
Which would be the difference?
I remember her eyes smiling under the smoke
And her long black hair
Veronica Lake's-style, as people said,
A film actress that I always loved
And I never saw.

Since she was a young and alone woman,
My mother went from the daily joy
To a form of sadness
By the stockings of others that sounded at night
Like the heart of a cricket
Which was making me sleep.