10/03/2014

#Mary #Berry #Poetry

Mary Berry, pulled in tight,
knees together, face alight
to the tablet in her hand. Gears
grind, commuting daily, she fears
the woman to her right
demurely dressed, may catch sight
of the word Can Upset Nursing Team.

Robin Buffchest, alpha male,
sets his points to grease the rail,
enter through the female arts
of parts, unconnected to the heart;
which pulse, quail, and never fail
to excite, when coaxed under the assail
of manicured fingers.

Mary Berry, alights the train,
collects coffee, joins the trail
of business minded folk.
Finds her chair, hangs her coat,
assigns post its to the bin. Jane
relates another tale, this time the drains
overflowed and blocked.

Numbers come, and numbers go, feet
walk miles, round, beneath the seat
shoes on, shoes off, page after page.
Daydreams snap from looks exchanged
familiar faces, backs of heads. Meet
mid morning through the glass, cheek
held up by helpful fist.

Sushi time, crisps; orange juice without the bits,
Jane's behind, a book or more, Robin's tricks
she wants to know, when uninvited down sits
Damian from claims. Buttons checked. He insists
to know, the way to go, on Donovan and Hicks
and have they heard the cooler talk, about Peter Briggs?
Six months they say.

The afternoon slips away, toilet break
telephone calls, wriggled toes, time to make
solid supper plans. Visualize what's in the fridge;
bagged salad, pork chops, half a cabbage,
celery sticks. Decisions still to make, in the wake
of the numbers on the screen. At last it's time to take
her coat and leave.

Mary Berry, rejects the call, to join them all,
in the pub for Paul's birthday. Spoiled
for choice, she window shops, as she walks,
lost in thought, to catch the train. The seat she sought
by the window is free. Tucked in small
knees together, tablet out, she allows herself to fall
once more into the little game.

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