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