Yours as ever, Francine.
You stepped down off the 1130
into pouring rain.
Precious little shelter in those
provincial stations, is there?
By the time we came to collect you,
you were wet to the skin and shivering hard,
a practised look of spite distorting your
once delightful face.
I wish you could change that part of
your nature, Josie.
That and your eagerness to blame
anyone but yourself.
For what it’s worth, though,
I’m sorry we were late.
Never much good at being punctual,
John and I.
I guess you’d say that we don’t try hard enough.
That we’re blissfully blind to these and other failings.
But we know what we’re about, Josie.
We’re neither deaf nor dumb.
You sometimes think we are though, don’t you?
Berating me for your own silly lack of foresight.
It’s the middle of winter, girl.
Did you not think to bring a brolly?
And when you do that,
that educated academic assault on the ‘real world’,
when you speak to me as though I were an idiot,
and I back down and apologise,
do you know what I’m really thinking?
You don’t, do you?
I don’t suppose you even think I’m capable of thought.
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