BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S…OR EVEN AT THE GREASIEST GREASY SPOON – BREAKFAST AT ANYWHERE BUT HOME (A PANDEMIC PARODY)

By: 

Thomas

McColl

During the first lockdown, stuck at home in Stratford, I was re-reading Truman Capote’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and it got me imagining how Holly Golightly would cope (or not) with lockdown. I imagined she’d hate it intensely and I ended up writing this poem, and though it’s a parody, it reflected how I felt at the time about having to go through a lockdown in a big city (albeit not New York, but London).

It’s no joke, darling.
I know I said Tiffany’s, but things are desperate.
All those curtains twitching every time I go out:
don’t you just hate snoops?
Can you believe the cops
got called to my place the other night?
The irony: all I had was Mag on Zoom
saying I must be m-m-missing m-m-male c-c-company –
then, there I was, my room filled with men,
and all in uniform!

Breakfast today was mean reds, with ketchup on top –
same as every other day, so far, in lockdown.
Much more of this enforced homeliness,
and I’ll end up turning back into Lulamae.
That’s what we’re all becoming, lockdown Lulamaes!

And bless you for reminding me, Fred,
but please don’t mention the C-word again…
No, not coronavirus – crow,
the one Doc tamed and taught to say Lulamae.
Doc said, out in the sticks, you’re free as a bird.
I can’t believe I almost wish I was back there.

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