Urban Mona Lisa.

Mona Lisa`s face without the smile,
A remote image reflected through long aeons,
Through smoke and countless tarnished mirrors
Onto the almost blank, unspotted page
Of an up to date young life.

This girl, sitting silent on the opposite side
Of the room to the alcove in which I lounge,
Has hardly learned her A to Zee, her 1 to 10,
And yet is ready to take on the world,
And shake her man with outrageous views.

No teacher could make her a slave to the rules,
No politician could hoodwink her with a lie.
She was born with a million years of knowledge
Stored in the silent depths of her mind,
A library waiting for the words to be formed.

But she knew what to say when she crossed the room
To sit with the man she had watched all night,
Her eyes dark with secrets only he can read
In the candle lit hubbub of the Peanuts Club.
"I too am a rebel", she whispered, then smiled.

The underpaid band bashed out folk songs
The singers raw voiced and well out of time.
"The audience are shadows", I quietly answered,
"But we two are dancers among the dud stars".
"We are the only stars here" she laughed, then kissed me.

"Have we met before? I know your face".
"My friends say I look like a famous painting,
Italian I think - of a pregnant woman".
"Ah yea". Mona Lisa, but a different smile;
A pizza in one hand, a pint in the other.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter,
13th. - 14th. - May 2020. - December 5th. 2020.
The first line was jotted down 1962 / 63, in the Peanuts Club,
a Folk, Jazz and Poetry Club that I frequented when a teenager.
The club was demolished when Liverpool Street Station was
modernised and extended.