“See herself..?”
‘Who..?’
“Herself.. there”
‘An’ about her?’
“..Cheating on himself..”
‘Sure she.. that one..’
“Fur coat.. no knickers..”

They scuttle out daily wagging their vicious tales,
Through dullness that dampens their every afternoon,
Ignored by their own; an’ threadbare reflection,
******* each spun yarn an’ sheet out to dry,

Stained with every listless memory an’ lonely evening,
Gossip-hungry, they covet the community swill,
Chomping through the random, unopposed untruths,
‘..husband slayer, heartless siren.. tis’ a mortal sin..’

They make no bones of any acquaintance of herself,
With monstrous-eyed chronicles of salacious green,  
Such falsehood is kind to the envious an’ bias ears,
Which tolerate any brazen line to a choir of lewd hymns,

They harmonise each lustful lie; the prime accuser,
Conducts a murky symphony of ***** laundry aired live,
The jury silent, mocking whispered an’ ears into the wind,
As the accused sullen-faced an’ solitary suddenly appears.

Herself stands idly ignorant to the satirical sniggers,  
The trial by jealously ends, they turn two faces an’ leave,
No fur, no knickers, no time to wish away the pain,
Curtains drawn, truth quartered - the washing hung