Bleating In the Deli
Her hair in a bun had been wound into position,
A Welsh woman, she frowned, was a bore;
Ageing, unfashionable and ugly, in truth:
I know, cuz I was there and I saw…
She sheltered in a deli from the winds
With two meek, gullible friends in tow;
She rambled on in her inanity,
Her conversation unerringly slow…
Was it her dog, which stayed out late in her garden,
On a plinth, after the clock struck ten?
Or her husband, who’d said he’d be there dreckly,
But didn’t really want to see her again?
Pete Ray
March 2016
Can’t say where this happened but I was lulled into a painful frame of mind by the woman’s lilting, painful accent and rather loud domination of her two acquaintances, who seemed glad to get away.
Her hair was twisted into a remarkable bun-like contraption and her clothes spoke of conservative Methodism. No idea why I thought that…
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