Fancy Man (Poetry)
07th September 2025
Mother said she had a fancy man
I didn’t believe her
I think she made it up
to make her life more exciting
Father worked long hours
and I think she got bored
with only me to talk to
four-year-olds don’t generally
have a wide range of conversation
I always knew when
she was expecting ‘company’
on those afternoons
she would stack our lunch things
by the sink unwashed
then away upstairs to her boudoir
to sit in front of her mirror
to get herself ‘prettied-up’ she said
then she’d play with her hair and makeup
I’d watch her for a bit sometimes
help her with her zip
when she changed into a stylish scarlett polkadotted frock
ask if I could try a smear
of her ‘Tahiti sunset’ lipstick
(a touch of glamour from Woolworth’s cosmetic counter)
or a dab of her French lavender eau de toilette
sometimes she let me in her generous mood
if not then I’d sneak some later ...
Then when she was ready
she’d tell me to go out and play
in the garden if it was sunny
or in my room if the weather was bad
so I went but I kept my eyes and ears open
because I wanted to see
what a fancy man looked like
but I never did
not one glimpse
Afterwards she always seemed
faraway — transported somewhere happy
and her face was enigmatic as a painting
with a half-smile hovering
as she did the dishes now
and hummed to herself
a tune that had no need of words
her body spoke of secrets hidden deep
These times I sensed she needed
to be left alone to contemplate
until the last bright bubble burst
the dishes dried and put away
indulging in one final cigarette before
she went back to dowdy housewife mode
that inner glow put out
It was often late before I heard
my father’s key turn in the lock
I was supposed to be asleep
but waited for his safe return
and their exchange of greetings murmured
as Mother took his coat and hung it
on the hallstand that creaked with bentwood age
I knew the ‘Tahiti sunset’ had
been banished with brown pencilled brows
restored to their bare canvas look
and once he must have sniffed the air
remarking on the perfume lingering
and she had laughed dismissing it
as polish — the gleaming furniture stood proof
her flight of fancy spawning that strange lie
I didn’t believe her
I think she made it up
to make her life more exciting
Father worked long hours
and I think she got bored
with only me to talk to
four-year-olds don’t generally
have a wide range of conversation
I always knew when
she was expecting ‘company’
on those afternoons
she would stack our lunch things
by the sink unwashed
then away upstairs to her boudoir
to sit in front of her mirror
to get herself ‘prettied-up’ she said
then she’d play with her hair and makeup
I’d watch her for a bit sometimes
help her with her zip
when she changed into a stylish scarlett polkadotted frock
ask if I could try a smear
of her ‘Tahiti sunset’ lipstick
(a touch of glamour from Woolworth’s cosmetic counter)
or a dab of her French lavender eau de toilette
sometimes she let me in her generous mood
if not then I’d sneak some later ...
Then when she was ready
she’d tell me to go out and play
in the garden if it was sunny
or in my room if the weather was bad
so I went but I kept my eyes and ears open
because I wanted to see
what a fancy man looked like
but I never did
not one glimpse
Afterwards she always seemed
faraway — transported somewhere happy
and her face was enigmatic as a painting
with a half-smile hovering
as she did the dishes now
and hummed to herself
a tune that had no need of words
her body spoke of secrets hidden deep
These times I sensed she needed
to be left alone to contemplate
until the last bright bubble burst
the dishes dried and put away
indulging in one final cigarette before
she went back to dowdy housewife mode
that inner glow put out
It was often late before I heard
my father’s key turn in the lock
I was supposed to be asleep
but waited for his safe return
and their exchange of greetings murmured
as Mother took his coat and hung it
on the hallstand that creaked with bentwood age
I knew the ‘Tahiti sunset’ had
been banished with brown pencilled brows
restored to their bare canvas look
and once he must have sniffed the air
remarking on the perfume lingering
and she had laughed dismissing it
as polish — the gleaming furniture stood proof
her flight of fancy spawning that strange lie