Plaited Patricia sits gawky and awkward:

long legs, short dress, tight bodice, puffed sleeves.

She clasps shiny knees with rough red hands,

swollen fingers catching in fancy laced linen.

 

Pin-striped legs tucked under his chair,

with bony knees so carefully aligned,

grandfather Crampton’s copper plate fingers

clasp a bone china handle. He lowers his lips

 

to a porcelain rim. Such Edwardian restraint.

An elegant gesture accomplished with ease.

She cannot do likewise, plaited Patricia,

her fingers scramble to find any purchase

 

on willow pattern handles. Her efforts slip slop

spooling hot tea over misaligned knees,

down purple calves to her leather tongued shoes.

Fumbling and scrabbling in her dress pocket

 

miscellaneous crumbs join tea trails and

fine crocheted doilies are caught in the snag.

A tumble down teatime descends to the lawn.

 

Those pin-striped knees engineer a small turn

and a genteel white head with a weak wan smile

responds to this mishap, with scarcely a nod.