Fools in Their Gallery

Clearly they know,

picking on the girl,

harmless banter,

harmless words,

they know,

uncivlized little fucks,

unleashing words,

directed at her,

then hiding, beind smirks that hide narcisstic indifference.

“It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me” … chanting in unison.

She sits quietly, probably making gestures to them in return for their pointed words.

Smart enough to do so quietly and to not draw attention to herself,

not lacking in individuality,

she has much grace,

all poise,

to their fractured, disheveled, interruption.

Oh, how they try to cut to the bone,

sitting in the corner – careful to project strength, yet so alone.

Under breath comments so cruel,

procaliming innocence, so grand and then playing the fool.

Then more comments of non verbal nature then reactions designed to draw attention from her.

Then it becomes clear to me that they have been afraid,

unable to look inside and admit to all the bad mistakes they have made.

They will never be able to see it so clear,

acting the fool.

T.S. Deary


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