Saw her after years, Clinking her glass as Everyone roared "cheers" To somebody's happiness They cared two dimes about. Marvelling over how her Hair seemed to finally Stay in place, How she did eventually learn To suffer high heels with grace, And trying hard to not be Intimidated by the hint of rouge Adorning her face, I managed A "What are you doing here!" Expecting her to reply in some Accent or language as fancy As she'd become, But oh! Musically she spoke In a manner as matter of fact, As nonchalant, as uncautious As before, "You know, just pretending to be pretentious!"
Oh you wicked little rebel, I thought, Gently tugging at her hair, Loosening one curl, Try as you might to pretend to pretend! You're way too REAL for this world.