Waiting
Waiting in the car park
wet, dripping
cold, gripping
when along comes
Steph ‘n stuff,
strutting,
ponytails swishing,
slickly dried
like Maybelline models
with too-bright faces.
They brush past calling,
‘See ya!'
‘Ring me.'
‘Catch ya later.'
to each other
but not to me.
I hunch into my coat.
Cars flash,
they dash.
And I am
waiting.
Copyright © Jeni Mawter 2006 |
Omigod
‘Omigod!' says Steph,
‘I've got cellulite!'
Stunned silence in the change room, then...
‘Omigod!'
‘Omigod!'
‘I'm a blob!' howls Steph,
covering her legs with her towel,
as if
it has magical fat-suctioning powers.
Kate ‘n Elle rally around
offering clucks of sympathy
and words of moral support
in a show of
Girl Bonding.
But later,
when Steph's in the shower,
the thunder of falling water
won't wash away
the thunder of falling words:
‘Thunder thighs!'
and ‘Flubberguts'
and the worst one of them all,
‘Bush pig.'
I bend over,
pretending to towel myself dry
but really, to inspect my own legs,
for sinister signs
of being
absolutely NORMAL. |
