Book Club

Old ladies sit around a well-appointed room,
Talking about a book we read, or did not read.
We have been doing this for thirty years
And knew each other when,
Though we did not know it, we were young.
We are cheerful. Life has not brought us down,
Though in most  instances, it's tried to.
Each of us is a volume of literature on her own,
A treasured souvenir with associations to a past
That we can scarce remember. 
We smooth the tattered pages, knowing by their age,
That we're not new either, and we are the words
That reveal our literatures, or disguise them.
"After the meeting, a lavish dessert was served,"
The paper would have said,
If papers really said things any more.
Truth to tell, coconut cake was sliced and wolfed,
Cream whipped, coffee drunk, tongues eased;
And then the tales began,
And now the books came open.

YAZZYBEL