She roared in on the back of a lion,
sipping cocktails of conscience.
Sat thinking of wall flowers and such mundane things,
as sharks circled the dance floor,
dark eyes on stalks,
they're assessing their prey.
As octopuses their arms keeping warm,
wrapped around the form of unsuspecting suckers who accept a token drink.
She crept out in a minicab,
somewhat the worse for wear,
sneaked into her bedroom,
flopped on to her needed bed.
Slept until she woke.
Feeling just a little puce.
slightly purple but not really brown.
She let wisdom take the lead,
as the day progressed,
was just at bit of befuddled, muddled fun,
The back bar full of biker's,
roaring more than wild lions,
to the echoes of the rock,
so heavily metallic,
the front bar had the Irish chaps.
trying hard to compete with the back bar noise,
it was ideal for her,
a rock chic at heart,
but she loves the Irish stuff to,
A wholly delightful crazy day.
Afternoon ended with a bang before six,
the bikers left and she did too,
the queen of solo got the bus,
toddled home and shared a curry with her daughter,
just what a mother and daughter ought to do.
my birthday written as a poem for you !
(C) Livvi
Deliberate spelling error Chic x