The Poetry Society

(to an old friend)

Curled into arm-chairs

with cups of earl grey tea,

the air is turgid

with ideas, and thoughts,

and empathy that softens

and blurs like the

steam off a tea-cup.

But when I mention

her name, your jealousy

is like a rope going slack:

suddenly we

are distant friends trying

to keep up conversation

across the room.