Scent of Paris

[Tinker]

Scent of Paris

A small sapphire mirror lay flat
on her dressing table
with beautiful bottles
arranged upon it.  
The center of attention
a tear drop, midnight blue, glass globe
with "Evening in Paris"
scrolled in silvery blue.

She'd dab just a touch,
while dressing in Navy polka dot,
ready to drive to the office
in her baby blue Buick.

Walking to her corner cubicle
she becomes one of many
in a sea of cobalt cubbies.
Still she would be that one,
with the scent
of Paris at midnight.
                ~~ Judi Van Gorder

Prompt write a poem in any frame using at least 5 shades of blue.
This prompt reminded me of my mother and her favorite scent. She went back to work when I was 12 and Daddy got her a blue Pontiac.   I still have her sapphire mirror on my dresser now.  One of my grandkids cracked it a few years ago but I can't throw it away.

[badger11]

The details make the poem. Liked the sonics of Buick/cubicle. I did wonder about her occupation - a typist?

enjoyed

badge

[Tinker]

Hi Badge, Thanks for commenting, my mother worked in accounting for a large grocery chain in the 50s and 60s.  It was just a job, not a career that she chose but it helped pay the bills and she was good at it.   I never went to her office but I don't think she ever worked in a cubicle.  I believe the cubicle didn't come into its own until the 80s after she died but I needed another blue and I recalled being in an office recently where I saw cobalt blue cubicles.  I've never worked in a cubicle either, thank God, to me they are almost dehumanizing.  This is where I work every day  

             

[tonyv]

I think what excites me the most is:

21 hours ago, Tinker said:

... while dressing in Navy polka dot ...

As sensuous as that may be to me -- the thought of a white dress with navy! (not red) polka dots -- it's tempered by the next line re the blue Buick and the background re the car's origin. For a man, not much kills the buzz more than a girl who keeps mentioning her boyfriend, and where she got the car must have been common knowledge at the office.

I love the pics of the boss' office. That's where the voodoo happens, and I can't much keep up with that, but where does the magic happen? Does it happen there, during idle hours? At home? These past few days I've been tossing around the idea of a front page article on "The Writer's Desk." I was reading about Kurt Vonnegut and came across a blog entry about a book (now out of print) by Vonnegut's wife Jill Krementz, a photographer, that touched upon just that. Here's the link to the blog entry: re The Writer's Desk.

Tony

[Tinker]

  My desk at home where I do most of my writing.  I love my space.

It is just a piece of granite on two file cabinets. My idea, but I had to have help carrying in the granite, it took 4 of us. 
The book shelves have mostly reference books. They are clear heart redwood doweled into the wall.  

[tonyv]

Very nice setup. I'm happy to see that the books on the shelves are literature and writing tools like dictionaries and that there are no client folders and other insurance forms lying about. (Though I wouldn't think you would be someone who needs to take work home with her.)

Tony