The Danger of Tea Time

I sit up with my gloves on,

Off-white dingy but with no holes.

I am with the Other Girls.

The conversation travels around the table,

Sit straight cross legs keep hands folded on lap.

Try to imitate the glossy veneer so prevalent,

Slippery like magazine covers I hold but do not open.

I slowly awake to a whisper in my ear;

I am the only one with gloves on,

Legs crossed, sitting straight, hands folded.

The only one who needs a glossy cover.

I awaken to a lag in the conversation,

To hear the clatter of a tea cup,

Shaking as I reach to set it down

On china.