She steadied her hand
and put the pencil to her eye,
the sadness she spent so long
ignoring, underlined.
She knew a good thing
when she saw one,
believed the words
of Rufus and Chaka Khan.
Through the cigarette haze
she searched for her feelings,
fumbled round her handbag
for lip-gloss and meaning.
Sipping instant coffee
alone in a strange kitchen,
she smiled at the ‘funny’ mug
and considered her position.
It’d been a good night
down the ‘Bully’,
she thought to herself
taking her coat from the hall.
Closing the unfamiliar door
she walked into the cold,
an independent woman
in charge of when she lost control.
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