You could have a big dipper   

On her return for the funeral by Sadie Maskery




A miniature calamity develops

round the china cups, storm front

brewing with the earl greys and lapsangs,

brittle brandy snaps, bared fangs

dressed as smiles with a slash of kissproof

lipstick nibbling the cheese baps

with savage glee, and your faux bonhomie

"Do you remember my cousin love, more tea?"

our civilised sipping putting a brave face on

words slipping to slanging match with hissed discretion

for the sake of the children and the spilt milk,

chipped saucers and stale gossip swept

beneath the tablecloth as the memories

of our trespasses are dashed

across the genteel embroiderywork

of the ladies' committee - but dammit my love,

you looked good naked all those years ago

at the charity jumble, and your prissy wife's

bakery flair, her pastry so neat, will never compare

with memories of that other chipped crockery

smashed to the floor in the haste

of burning passion, our rough and tumble rocking

the vestry door though the curate came knocking,

or the scalding heat of our oh so very original sin

in the vicar's pantry behind the recycling bin.


Sadie Maskery lives in Scotland by the sea with her family. Her writing will be found in various publications both online and in print, and she can be found on Twitter as @saccharinequeen

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