Frances Runs Away
She exits the Chinese Restaurant,
scattering all in her hurry,
her napkin falling,
it flutters down in slow motion;
a snow-goose hovering over a red cloth.
'Not a good way to break-up Frances,
not cool'.
On the pavement, high-heels clacking,
Frances running, her calves straining,
tendons bolting her onward.
On its fore-legs, her toppling chair
seems to want to follow –
a thunderclap
as the napkin lands.
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