Here comes Christine -
A professional Christian, she glad-hands me,
Smiles in warmth and splendour,
Asks after my children, my wife,
Laughs and exclaims, ‘The world is full of Joy!
Are you saved?’
Of course.
I nod.
‘Come and see me sometimes!’ she says,
And I nod again -
‘Thursday at 2?’ I ask. ‘I’m free then.’
In slow-motion her face freezes,
Her eyes die,
The muscles round her jaw gasp for air.
‘Or maybe 5?’
She nods and stammers incoherently,
Just for a microsecond,
Her mind casting round for ways to escape.
I didn’t hear the excuses,
Too amused by the action in front of me -
She blossoms up flowers without substance,
Petals evanescent as they’re born,
Words and pictures that camouflage her retreat
Quite nicely, thank you.
Who would know?
Just me,
I see.
