The cloying smell of mixed perfumes

Permeates the room.

A gaggle of chic women chatter endlessly,

Picking at their elegant meal

Lest anyone call then piggish.

They prigishly compare exercise routines,

As painted nails that match

Carefully made up lips

Convey substance to their gaping orifices.

They waddle out on clacking pumps

Proud of their collections of mud,

Mrs. So and So's gaudy hat,

Mrs. Prim's husband sleeping

With little Miss Slut,

And so it goes ....

They drive slowly home

Warmed by the liquor of malice

Glowing contentedly

In the fire of conceit.

Joanna Ballard - March 3, 1991