Biscuit

Things were quiet, relaxed and calm, Things were rosy and fine, Nothing was going to turn it around, Nothing from out or inside, And then, from nowhere, her upper lip quaked, She hid a small grin out of view, And her eyes softly scanned those all around, Her eyes both hid what she knew, And she could see the moment of their discontent, A fidget in a seat here and there, Her eyes could see the library of people, Shifting around on their chairs, And one by one, like a house built of cards, She saw the smiles all sink like a ship, Because it was she, with her gluteal guitar, Who let a silent, most violent one, rip.