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Poem

Four “Golden Girls” seated at a table
Grey streaks our hair, but minds remain stable
     Convention is underway
     Michael has something to say
He opens our meeting with a fable
 
It’s about a tortoise that beats a hare
Some of the “fast writers” begin to glare
     Joyce, Francine and Barbara know
     It takes time for verse to grow
We’re the queens of rewriting; this we swear
 
Iolanda’s introduced to read her book
“Lava of my Soul,” no gobbledygook
     We’re mesmerized by each line
     At the end we toast with wine
Joyce says, “Now those words took some time to cook.”
 
It’s Karen’s turn to read “Silent Whispers”
We see tears falling into John’s whiskers
     “Tears of joy,” Francine exclaims
     For Karen’s Best Seller fame
Applause rings out from grateful listeners
 
After the “meet and greet” it’s nearly dawn
The crowd starts to thin as our comrades yawn
     Joyce, Francine call it a night
     But Barbara still sits upright
We two remain when most others are gone
 
One poet called us “Late Night Cockroaches”
This indignity did not encroach us 
     We call ourselves “LNCs”
     Awake in wee hours with ease
Waiting for our princes to approach us
 
That’s when the James Brothers draw near
Peranteau and Fraser, to make it clear
     With two erotic writers
     LNCs pull “all nighters”
Knowing that we can propose; it’s Leap Year!
 
 
*Entry for Michael’s “A Table of Four” contest
At my table: Carolyn Devonshire
Joyce Johnson
Francine Roberts
Barbara Gorelick

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