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Michael Harlowonline works |
'Nothing but Switzerland and Lemonade'
The mountains are white with snow. A waiter appears bearing two glasses on a red tray. Bending to the table he considers the remote possibility of her breasts. He is thinking: ‘Green grape and you refused me, red grape and you sent me packing. May I have a bite of your raisin?’ She winks discreetly at her gentleman friend in his fawn waistcoat and lemon gloves. A glass falls shattering on the stone floor. From across the terrace a peddler smiles, flashing a fan of postcard scenes from Provence . . . .
From Nothing but Switzerland and Lemonade (Hawk Press, 1980) |
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