Madame Fi Fi's Farewell
Rattle down the shutters, cast away the key,
Relinquish the rivers at last to the sea,
Old Jock of Lochranza,
Taut as a stanza,
Can come no more for me.
My eager sole visitor was planted this week,
Six decades beyond his potency's peak;
He was the salty, last
Proof of my glorious past;
From here, the sea looks bleak.
It's out with the pension, no more red heels
To clack down the pier among wet nets and creels;
I can't turn a head
(When they are all dead)
From the sea's late purples and steels.
Hang up my whip, my scents, the tools of my trade,
That kept the fish-scaled men unstaid;
From the tedium of wintered lives,
Beyond the scowls of island wives,
Released them, glad-afraid.
Young men of Lamlash, Blackwaterfoot, Corrie,
Be you built like a rabbit, a shark, or a lorry,
It's off with this make-up
That let your dads wake up,
And I am sorry.