Sally Richards

 

 

A glass or two at the weekend

 

 

She stands

lubricated by the third large glass

of red

regaling the group

with some story or other

hasty choice of white plastic pumps

incongruent

with the setting.

 

They sit  

with supercilious smiles;

through gritted teeth - the odd sip

of Chardonnay;

eyes telling a different story

 

distain leaks

from the corner of mouths

as she gets louder, more animated

by the minute.

The one, alpha, male

attempts, without success, to subdue

her exuberance;

she’s having none of it

 

This is her moment

her time, her captive audience,

away from invisibility,

his bellowing presence;

she can really let go.

 

Maybe her delusion is a blessing,

better than the truth

of never being heard.

 

 

 

 

Sally Richards © 2009