The Man Who Wore Tweed meets The Girl in Floral Prints

Amy Rainbow wrote the first poem, to which I replied.”The Man Who Wore Tweed” is included in Amy’s excellent collection “Poems of the Unrequited” and is available via her website. You should buy a copy – she made me!

The Man Who Wore Tweed- by Amy Rainbow

I was done running round after pretty young things
Had enough thrills and spills and the heartache it brings
And although debauched living was plenty of fun
It was high time my life as a nun had begun
So I dumped all the hair dye and ditched all the glitz
Swapped breath taking corsets for clothing that fits
Then I popped to the bookshop for something to read
And that’s when i met him the man who wore tweed

He was after a book called the mind of MacBeth
While I wanted romance not madness and death
But then as he queued he defended his choice
With such fire in his eyes, such delight in his voice
That I wanted to talk and to listen to more
For here was a passionate man I was sure
Then for once in my life I let him take the lead
And was asked out for drinks by the man who wore tweed

He was old, almost eighteen months older than me
But had manners and grace and was gentlemanly
We chatted for hours got drunk on champagne
Till the manager threw us out into the rain
And we laughed and began to walk home through the park
Where we sang in the moonlight, and danced in the dark
And then when he kissed me I melted weak kneed
That’s the moment I fell for the man who wore tweed

He inhabits my dreams and lights up my days
He pokes fun at my sesquipedalian ways
And i in return make the odd playful swipe
At his trilby and cords, at his slippers and pipe
But despite seeming utterly wholly mismatched
We’re both ready to end all that no strings attached
So yes i confess i will have to concede
That I’m smitten, bewitched, by the man who wears tweed

For a change I am sure that my judgement’s not wrong
More distinguished than handsome, more clever than strong
Quite unlike all the men that I usually meet
He’s a vet who breeds beagles and deals in antiques
It’s a meeting of minds not libido’s and lips
And i find that his company always outstrips
That of youths living loosely and spreading their seed
Yes, I’d far rather be with the man who wears tweed

He’s honest and tactile yet funny and deep
He plays jazz on piano and sings me to sleep
He’s the rarest of finds, a reliable man
And my friends think its strange, but I don’t give a damn
Because what they don’t realise and what they can’t see
Is he makes me feel safe and he lets me be me
Now my life is complete, I have all that I need
In my country retreat with the man who wears tweed.

The Girl in Floral Prints

Young girls are so exciting and dizzy and ace
How I loved all the wooing the chat and the chase
Skyscraper heels are fetching though not built to last
Especially ,as in them, girls cannot run fast
But discos become tiresome, tight trousers a bore
And I reckoned that I should get out about more
I knew that a bookshop would deter foolish bints
And that is where I met the girl in floral prints

She was browsing pulp fiction, a dubious start
My choice in light reading is usually Descartes
My mind raced like lightning have you heard of Macbeth?
“Of course I have” she smiled with the softest of breaths
She oozed self assurance and confidence you see
Arousing my interest in her biography
So I took a chance despite what others might think
Deciding to ask out the girl in floral prints

A little younger than me though well past her youth
Her sweet words entranced me refined, never uncouth
She quaffed champagne like water till she’d had her fill
Leaving me gasping as I settled up the bill
She spent all of my money, so we had to walk
Holding hands laughing smiling just happy to talk
My courage emboldened by lust and earlier drinks
I leaned across and kissed the girl in floral prints

With flowers on her dresses and blouses and skirts
All my intuition was to fear the worst
She’s smart and she’s spiky a real philosopher
Yet try as I might I cannot get cross with her
Her flat shoes are sensible, her make up discreet
She paints pictures of daisies on the toes of her feet
She’s sassy and funny with no highlights or tints
Causing me to fall for the girl in floral prints

My friends think I am mad, I don’t care what they say
Her early morning smile just brightens up my day
And when she stays out late and I’m wondering why
It’s only a meeting at the WI
In the kitchen she bakes cakes assiduously
In bed she’s more Ann Summers than Laura Ashley
With those clothes discarded she’s a bit of a minx
Oh I ‘m so in love with the girl in floral prints

I am proud to admit I’m the man who wears tweed
And there is something on which we are both agreed
A truth which is clear to us, so firmly impressed
Never make assumptions upon how people dress.

This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s