Kimpton Church

The pillars lean now

Tipped by angels dancing up

Sliding down, from God.

March Cold

On first visiting a Spa - for a 'treatment'

I didn't fit in.

My jeans and fleecy top

was not the garb of design.

The white butterflies around me

were in towelling robes and mules.

The darkened relaxation room

with water trickling,

pipe music piped,

candles and daybeds

oozed cliché calm.

I read 'coded Shakespeare'

with interest but aware,

oh so aware of the 

tinkle laughs and twitter

of my neighbours:

a moth amongst cabbage whites.

Even my drink was wrong,

my black coffee shuddered

in its tea cup amongst

spa water and elderflower.

I was called and guided

along sultry darkened corridors,

the breathy music piped on

subtle, soothing, quiet -

I lay on the operating table

being stroked and anointed,

pampered with care.

The cliché lived on but

the harsh Australian tones 

of the masseuse  didn't fit either.

We laughed a bit,

I was relaxed,

I liked the balms,

My anti ageing unguents

tried their best......

to cancel out 

the birthday reality

of tomorrow. 

Tromso, Norway