Idle Imperial, Queen of the keys,
Retired from fingers deft with speed,
Bakelite margins; slid and locked
By polished nails of Red and Grace,
Verónica and Jane: the perfumed ranks
Of they who came – with eye-lined, hungry gaze
To feed on heated blood of virgin males.
Their perfumed beauty fixed on you,
In mischief, now, in case you think
The ruby smile was worth the wink.
‘Move on, young man, and save your tails
For simpler maidens’ dusky nails…‘
We press the lens, the dog and eye
onto the glass, then let the mission die.
Brief witness as time’s shutter does its work,
Then take our leave, intent along that narrow street,
not to smirk, nor even blink…
For they may still be watching.
(C) Copyright Stephen Tanham 2026
Sun in Gemini 
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