Social Graces

I squint at the screen to study the skin on your face.
It is crinkling under the flash – or perhaps it is a permanent condition.

We are beginning to look like our mothers.

“Where is that incorrigible witch from our university days?
Could you please still hold a grudge, scream out against sexism and brutality,
And pour a bottle of vodka over our male friend’s head?

In return, I could flail wildly along our hometown wharf,
Swing a hip-flask in the air, and jeer repeatedly
At our poor friend’s emotional deficiencies.”

You smile numbly back at me. It seems you have forgotten.

Conscious of my rambling sentimentality,

“What fine-looking children you have.”

-KA Brown

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