Top hats and tight-fit monkey suits,
You pointed to the map of the world
With your silver-tipped walking sticks
And fixed my fate forever on a dot.
Already on the very next page,
I saw my white sailor suit parachuting
Among bricks and puffs of smoke
In a building split in half by a bomb,
The smoke that was like the skirts
Slit on the side to give the legs the freedom
To move while dancing the tango
Past ballroom mirrors on page 1944.