Sitting in the Tavern,
Waiting for food to arrive,
The table next to us,
Was massaging its ego,
Six people in total,
Four doing the talking.
One of the four,
An outrageously camp guy,
Whose effeminate mannerisms and voice,
Made him obvious,
He was the more sensible conversationalist,
-Most the time.
Another was a lady with a posh prim English accent,
Who, over-accentuated words,
Clearly spoken full of upper-class pomp,
She seemed to like to maintain her idea of personal status,
Boasting about her education and upbringing,
She had an air of self-importance that was insulting, to watch.
The next guy sitting adjacent to her,
Had a bunch of witty anecdotes,
For all occasions, most of it ridiculously unlikely,
Most likely bullshit,
He was one of those popular guy types,
Alpha male, one of the lads,
But it kept the conversation fresh,
His lies, well-rehearsed.
While across the table an American woman,
With a blunt and self-righteous humour and manner about her,
Had an over the top ‘put on’ laugh,
That was embarrassing to listen to,
The laugh would last for a while and then stop abruptly on cue,
It screamed through everyone in the bar,
Fake as hell, but ridiculously loud,
Loud as a fog horn,
We couldn’t hear ourselves think.
When their food arrived,
It silenced her a while.
The waitress could barely keep a straight face,
She tried so hard, she almost managed, but she cracked a little.