Belles ringing on a Saturday morning.
Girls laughing about Friday nights
in a cafe window, lipstick still bright
and eyes alight with laughter.
Fair belles chime in time,
reputations made or lost. Hair tossed
and tucked behind listening ears,
Lurking in lairs of thin frippery
over smooth skin
others sins revealed in peals of
Smiles illuminate rosy cheeks
and the powder creaks under the strain
of dry paint that’s past its twelve hour
guarantee and then some more.
The floor vibrates to stamping feet,
a treat of mirth that drifts on gales
of razor edged laughter.
The vamps dissect the night
and all of its creeping joes
and trawling sluts crushed underfoot
by the sisterhood.
The mood is bright as day light
creeps and seeps into the cities
Men meander home alone,
listening to the rivers lapping water
and avoiding the cafes and the sting
of girls laughter.