Drowning in dress choice, she wants no
Marilyn Look at me entrance , rather
something to carry her through dry mouthed solo arrival.
Pulls out sale dregs number that on her
lives up to its designer label promise,
but flashbacks; blown out by friend last minute,
folk night that anesthetised her rock and roll soul,
restraining yawns like Tourette’s outbursts at dull dinner.
Strokes with little-girl longing new strapless
but time saved up from work added to son sleepover windfall,
cannot be gambled on untried garment.
Ponders impulse buy plain Jane shift
then relives; shoes kicked off dancing until all hours,
gold strike of finding new friends at a 50th
child’s fizzy laughter uncorked in a comedy club,
so slips on the dress that promises an evening well spent…

Fiona Sinclair

If you have any comments on this poem, Fiona Sinclair would be pleased to hear from you.