A Man’s Woman
Lulled by her ‘Plain Jane’ months,
I’m shunt shocked - she has slimmed down
to her flirting weight,
whereas I am still dragging Christmas around.
Kiss-kiss You smell nice to my fella holding the car
door open .
Getting drinks in whilst he bags seats,
she suggests a tribute band the following week,
not his thing but I’m game.
My back turned to greet acquaintance,
she ignores girls’ night out rules
burlesque teases her big hair,
whilst issuing a personal invitation he can’t refuse.
Years myself being odd woman out,
I insist she sits between us,
become gooseberry as they chatter
about mutual Australian experience.
Despite my knowing he scores:
too poor, too old… on her mate check list,
tonight, amidst other middle aged men
who have standard slid into Tees and trainers,
he scrubs up well in Crombie, Ted Baker scarf, Brogues.
Although other girlfriends dismiss her -
I know whilst women prize Audrey and Marilyn,
men salivate over Stevie Nicks and the sexy one from Abba.
So when her sapphire eyes briefly meet mine and smirk
my laughter at the comedian on stage curdles,
as once again I wonder what her game is…
If you have any comments on this poem, Fiona Sinclair would be
pleased to hear from you.