The Date.


Smart and neatly turned out
she shifts from foot to foot.
Nervously waiting
expectant, anticipating.

Black dress, polished shoes
a smudge of red a dob of rouge
a bag, its contents checked
through and through

A gold watch on her wrist
ticks loud with every second passing,
a quick check in a shop window
a reassessment of things not lasting.

She turns,
another wasted evening.

By Alison Fielding.

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