Thursday, February 2

the solicitors sat around the table; three young demons.
they ordered lemon and ginger tea and sipped it in a bored fashion.

one wore black,
one wore red and
the other a short chequered cape.

their voices grew louder and louder and woke the sleeping
brown baby who was covered with plastic.

they hated everyone.

they told tales of arrogant men, judges, assistants,
snowboarding idiots
ungrateful sisters
gobshite colleagues
and nieces with precocious names.

they moved tables twice; once on account of a draught, and then a party of nine.
this made them worse.

they spoke of criminals,
laughed like wolves
at the story of the buy-one-get-one-free thief.
and rounded off their afternoon tea
with a cold, hard summary of their grandmothers.

1 comment:

page turner said...

this is gorgeous prose/poetry. vivid and hauntingly true. and final words in your previous entry made me weep.

you are quite brilliant, miss peacock