Ditched In Crick

Her eager eyes errantly glower at movers

Through translucent louvers;

O, poor Miss,

Held bound by a promise,

Wearing withered expression as broken branches;

Hope desecrated as sodden matches on blanch benches.

Famished she was for care,

Cemented to a cosy chair

As though coupled in chain

Like poky donkey deprived of free rein;

Charily spying every table,

Ears eavesdropping unfamiliar fable;

She wouldn’t yield to even a tear

Freely flow down cheeks’ alley,

And for feminine pride did she steer

To allay regrets in her solitary valley.

Bum became itchy, feet joined to judder,

Words she couldn’t utter, lips did shudder

Till no longer could she wait

For so late a date,

Cheeky to ditch a chic chick

Colourfully clad in crick

In a sunless night ruined by a guy loopy,

To ignore a lass in a soppy,

Severe state of mind,

To blush and blub behind

An avalanche of nosy brows

With consciences that to chauvinism bows.

Words she couldn’t utter, lips did shudder,

Bum became itchy, feet joined to judder,

Till no longer could she wait

For so late a date,

Cheeky to ditch a chic chick

To chomp through crick imbued in every tick.

Then she descried a hustler with him,

In nearby carvery and in an instant felt grim;

Heart rent by view of the terrible two

Too glaring for her to eschew.

O, poor Miss,

Thwarted by a promise,

Wearing withered expression as broken branches;

Hope desecrated as sodden matches on blanch benches,

For she was ditched in crick

By a crippling Casanova - a pious prick.