Friend or faux

When visiting my grandmother

I always hunted for the fox stole

in her wardrobe.

It smelt old fashioned and musty

with a hint of lavender

as I buried my nose deep

in the soft fur.

I never saw her wear it

except in black and white photographs,

and such things were long since

out of fashion, as we slid

into the synthetic age

and complained how cruel it was

farming animals to keep warm,

even though there was an awkward ring

of authenticity we chose to ignore,

(and it was alright to grow animals

to eat of course.)

Until the oil began to run short

and the cry went up

for renewable alternatives

and someone dared to come out

of the musty old closet and suggest

that it hadn’t been such a bad idea

after all.

John H Davies

14th March 2011