The Real Meeting.
We sat in a circle fourteen of us,
pointing knees at each other, drinking
coffee and trying to look relaxed.
Sweaty palms discretely dried on
One of the six women in the group
began talking – women are better at
airing their feelings than men- she
went on, a great length, about a life
of endless cocktail parties around
a swimming pool, posh wine in
expensive restaurant, of which I knew
nothing; fiddled with a lighter,
a sign on the wall read NO SMOKING.
Then the other five spoke in turn,
they all seem to have sprung from
the same glamorous background.
Ten minutes left when the chair asked
if any of the men had anything to say,
we mumbled something about feeling
fine; a short prayer, meeting over and
could go outside lit a fag and the real