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.