Revision of an older poem. . . .
What the Lord Chamberlain Allowed
Fifties prudery! At the Pavilion Theatre, Liverpool,
where my Uncle Bill performed as red-nosed comic between
tableaus of naked wenches: William Tell’s "son" stage right,
papier maché apple on her head, with "Papa" Tell at stage left
aiming her crossbow--neither allowed to move, not even a tick,
just like the busbied guardsmen at Buckingham Palace.
At age seven, I watched the scant-clad girls from the drafty wings.
Back then, I preferred currant buns to nipples like currants.
Later, National Geographic pics of bare-breasted women
from underdeveloped countries helped me in my development.
Christopher T. George