Nan flips the first card onto its back:
Queen of Hearts your love will be red-headed.
A secret hoarded in the eyes, about the lips,
whichever way the Queen is held.

Grandad bolsters the tea with Bell’s,
delves into a Buckingham Palace biscuit tin.
Retrieves mint Viscounts, sugared Nice,
stale-soft custard creams.

Blue eyes behind Eric Morecambe frames,
Grandad’s commandeered the record player.
Tugs stubborn vinyl from its sleeve,
croons: “I went to see a Fortune Teller.”

The needle betrays Nat King Cole,
the rumble and hiss of Mona Lisa
stalls in fathomless grooves.
Nan tuts, glances Godward, offers the cards.

Four of Spades you’ll travel far.
The stylus settles, Nat finds his stride.
Grandad waltzes the biscuit tin,
Nan’s eyes dance with diamonds.

Published in Twenty-two Twenty-eight

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