by Irina Husti-Radulet | August 2, 2022
Mr Guillaume brought Paris to London
His fingers anchored him to earth with their varicoloured jewels –
He told me he once found a pearl shucking oysters
And had it mounted on his littlest finger.
When asked “how do you like your eggs?” he replied Fabergé.
And his fizzing champagne chuckle hounded the poor waiters
Who brought out omelettes garnished like tsarist creations.
It was impossible to be angry with him –
He left the echo of his laugh in teacups up and down the city.
There was no flower pinned to his lapel
“All that’s for weddings and funerals,” he’d say,
“And I fancy neither at the present day”.
But when his heavy body rocked with laughter
His ears hung like long petals
And his head shook like a cowslip in a windy field –
In the high flaming noon of his golden season
Petals of silk slowly scattered away. ∎
Words by Irina Husti-Radulet. Art by Ben Beechener.