Awkward Assumptions

An awkward silence swiftly swallows the joyful night.
A beer becomes awkward as I sigh,
when the group reveals she is coming soon and an awkward
awful chill leaves me laminated and useless. An awkward
finger fiddles on the table anticipating her arrival.
Her awkward smile a silent smack, turns her back and starts socialising.
An awkwardness award awarded to me for awkwardly sitting silently,
while her harpy’s beak causes a
cacophony by mingling with everyone else effortlessly.
An awkwardness which I wanted to wipe by
saying: “Sorry, it was long ago and what we said we didn’t mean, so
– and this is awkward –
can we let that go and start clean?” But how awkward
would that have been?
And my mouth is dry. And I cannot speak. So instead I awkwardly
sit silently; pretend to listen to the conversation she
dominates. I remember how our car broke down on our amazing
race, how we ran out of petrol and only insults remained.
I’m awkwardly snapped back to reality as
she jovially asks me a question.
It’s just small talk, but the table we’re sat around waits and listens
for an answer. So, accompanied by an awkward little laugh,
like a lifeless hyena, I answer. This might be a nice night after all.

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