Women of a certain age

We are like old women sitting around a coffee pot
We have much to say about many things
And unafraid to show how we feel

It comes across in how our voices rise and lower
How our arms sweep the air
How we wipe our tears with paper napkins

A good friend is dying
And we can't bear to think of her children
Of her having to say goodbye

An old boss still pesters us with his ways
He is unchanged, brittle, vain
Puffing his chest and avoiding duty

I tell you of an unnamed woman who wails
Having lost her baby, bereft
And how her grief unhinged her listeners

You talk of your dreams of a child in your home
What he might bring, how you'll love him
How you will parent him

We talk of a young girl murdered
Maybe tortured
And the long pain that follows

And so it goes back and forth
Our work, our bosses, our men
Our labours, our losses, our love

It is the afternoon hour
Of a day, of a lifetime
Of strong coffee and stronger friendship