I used to think that she must have a terrible life…
alone all the time… but, I’m yet to see her frown.
No ‘Social Media’ (I’ve looked for her)
and she’s the only one who walks through town
looking up at the trees and sky, like a freak,
instead of at a smartphone clutched neurotically in hand.
No car, walks over to the shops daily,
singing softly to herself like a lunatic sometimes,
carries her bits and bobs home in a little backpack.
Refuses to join in with any Neighbourhood activities…
always answers with a “It’s Not For Me, But Thanks”.
It’s strange, it’s kind of like she’s missing out
on the ‘Messy Parts’ of life,
no nagging children, marital strife or family arguments.
The other girls have taken to calling her ‘Prozac’
because she’s always so damned calm about the place.
It’s as if she might have found something out,
a secret of some kind, a long time ago…
which none of us might ever stumble into.
I think that it’s ‘Her’ and ‘Her’ alone
who should be looking down her nose at everyone else…
but, she doesn’t, and that’s the annoying, serene beauty of it.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer who deals in the Lowlife, Outsider, and Outlaw genres.  He wrote his first poem as a teenager following his release from the (Infamous) Borstal ‘HMP Portland’, and he has been creating Literary Terrorism ever since.  His novel ‘Crazy Like Emotion’ published by Close To The Bone Publishing is available to purchase right here Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.