She was incorrigible, beyond all redemption
The worst nightmare of a student flat-share
Always missing her turn to cook or clear the table
Never offering to clean-up or make tea when she was able
Too quick to take offence to pertinent advice well meant
Always complaining that life was boring
Her never-ending, tedious lament
Not pouring, just drizzling on like late autumn rain
Small cremations of fag ash showing
That she’d been chain-smoking in the communal kitchen again
And then, each time, when we would all finally agree
To confront her, take her to task, tear her off a strip
In, she would bound like a faithful hound
Filled with new optimism and joie de vivre
Smiling, complimenting, bringing exquisite pastries,
Smoked ham, French cheeses, fine wine: a true daughter of eve
I’ve sold a story, she would crow
Or I’ve found a new man, or
Here are free tickets to a new show!
And gradually her excitement would calm
Becoming radiance: a scented candle
Spreading her light out towards the drab furnishings
And she would recite or sing until our hearts were full
Her eyes: two lipid, mercurial, saturnalian rings
Her voice as caring and soft as cotton wool
M R McBride Autumn 2019
Love your penultimate line. Inspired.
Thank you, Roger. I hoped someone would notice that mouthful. It was meant to be bewitching.