Jeanine: a portrait in some of her own words

Wowee, dear friend,
a year since you passed on
into that spirit world
I have no inkling of.

How about that?
I bet you’re laughing
at our lot, these politicians
with their blabberyab and lies.

Holyschmoly, how I miss
your sharp tongue and your mischief;
our tête-à-têtes peppered 
with un peu de français,
ein bißchen Deutsch.

And who could forget your catch-all
thingummybobsmalloo
for a forgotten word or name?
I like it too.

Do you haunt a table 
outside Corelli’s
sipping a cuppaccino
and lapping up the sun?

Only you, chérie, could transform
that narrow strip of pavement,
double-deckers juddering past,
into a Parisian terrasse.

Wherever you are now
love you, babe. Bisous.