lesters not tiffanys

A killer instinct and a whiplash wit,
a mask and a plastic bag of prose
is no armoury for breakfast with Lester

For breakfast with Lester requires
sure footed sanctity with ruffled charisma
and a hip flask of vodka for the O.J

His doorman stares me down
but I stare harder.
shall I salute or blow him a kiss...neither.
you leave that kind of behaviour
along with all form of tawdry remark
on the gargoyled hat stand in the foyer.
"morning" I say.
I curtsy anyway.

Lester lives in Springfield Avenue.
A mansion of sorts,
beguiling in every way.

The breakfast party usually consists of
Lester and his doorman,myself
and a couple of worldly noteables,
hands in the air inverted commas.

Last time it was Vladimir Putin and Bjorn Borg.
Vladimir couldn't keep his hands off my vodka.
Mr Borg told me what he really got up to
with Johm Mcenroe's girlfriend
after the 81 wimbledom final.
Fascinating stuff.

The doors to Lesters sunroom
are carved with angels.
I brace myself, grip the halo handle,
and push the doors torward another
breakfast with Lester.