’50S Closet

Walking South, tall and lithe
high heels clicking
young men turning
catching a surreptitious glimpse
from behind.

before her descent
into the subway, heading home
she gazes in Bonwit’s windows
at the scarves.

Breathing deeply, somewhat flushed
she enters,
walking directly to the counter
where the scarves are laid out
tended by the woman.

Short dark hair, unfashionable
like a boy’s
dark smoldering eyes
that looked directly at you
Nay, through you as she spoke.

She wore a tie
and slacks
her face unadorned
save for tiny golden

“May I help you?”

She responded almost whispering,
heart racing, feigning interest in the patterns
staring, her hands nervous on the glass
pointing to scarves brightly colored

which were gently spread
across her outstretched palms
their hands and fingers touching
as they together hold the silks
discussing quality.

She would ask about the price
the availability of other colors
her voice almost choking;
she was answered in kind; hushed
perhaps distracted by desire
perhaps implying hidden consent.

They continued discussing scarves
in furtive whispers
two women leaning close to one another
hands touching
in a public space.



photo:  http://pintuckstyle.blogspot.com/2010/01/1950s-fashion-illustrations.html




About toritto

I was born during year four of the reign of Emperor Tiberius Claudius on the outskirts of the empire in Brooklyn. I married my high school sweetheart, the girl I took to the prom and we were together for forty years until her passing in 2004. We had four kids together and buried two together. I had a successful career in Corporate America (never got rich but made a living) and traveled the world. I am currently retired in the Tampa Bay metro area and live alone. One of my daughters is close by and one within a morning’s drive. They call their pops everyday. I try to write poetry (not very well), and about family. Occasionally I will try a historical piece relating to politics. :-)
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One Response to ’50S Closet

  1. beetleypete says:

    Gets right to the heart of sexual repression at the time, Frank. When I was young at that same time, my Mum would call lesbians ‘tomboys’, and gay men ‘confirmed bachelors’.
    The lover of Oscar Wilde, Alfred Douglas, summed it up so well, in the 1890s.
    “The love that dare not speak its name.”
    Best wishes, Pete.

    Liked by 1 person

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