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.