Darling, are we a funeral party?

by George Pringle

She looked up from the wreath she was making, stapling the lavender satin –

The ribbons fell over her skirt and curled around her feet.

It looked like a giant rosette

This memorial wreath


From over her spectacles, she said, with a smooth deliberation

…in a song that sounded of cigarettes

“You know you can be very lonely with another person.  You can beat a woman down without beating her up.  Some poor bastard snoring away beside you…and you’re paying for the privilege”

Outside on the street was a straw hat.  It slid along the pavement.

It’s frayed edges said

“Summer is over.  Go home”

So I did.