Ode to Doris

Our coastal town’s a lovely place,

Where you’ll always find a friendly face,

That’s likely middle class and white,

Which makes us feel quite safe at night.


There’s buses, chemists and cream teas,

And churches, where upon old knees,

We thank the Lord for our retreat,

From peril ridden city streets.


Cities with climate activists,

Muslims, gays and terrorists,

And thugs, and drugs and homeless bums,

Lefty councils and young mums.


We crave life how it used to be,

In circa 1953,

When television had just two channels,

We washed each week with soggy flannels.


Before plastic waste and global warming,

Phones exploding without warning,

Before computers, viruses and Spam,

(Except the sort that comes in cans).


When novelty was a soda siphon,

Sex; Mills and Boon and a glimpse of nylon.

How we ached for Mateus table lamps,

Camp Coffee and our Green Shield stamps.


When sideboards were mahogany, 

And the vicar would pop by for tea,

People behaved just as they should,

In quiet, nosey neighbourhoods.


Now, in our bungalow city retreat,

We try once more to repeat,

The life we think we used to have,

Through memory’s rose-tinted glass.

Mark Dunn
Apr 6 2020

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I really loved this style of poetry. Very earnest writing.

Tracy Windross
Apr 7 2020