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