View from the second row (A poem)

A pantoum written after an evening out and about, with a little bit of people-watching…

The back of her dress was cut down to there
from a distance, she had an air of grace and elegance
It was hard not to stare
I suspected she would be the most graceful dancer

From a distance, she had an air of grace and elegance
when she drew near, it was clear she was just stoned
I’d suspected she would be the most graceful dancer
but she spent half the night giggling into her phone

When she sat down in front of us, it was clear she was just stoned
reeking of pot, and going on and on about shoes—
that is, when she wasn’t giggling into her phone
or nursing a Pabst Blue Ribbon, having passed on real booze

Reeking of pot, and going on and on about shoes
she was soon rubbing her hands, as though she were cold
Having finished the Pabst Blue Ribbon, after forsaking real booze
she now seemed tired, her hair was tousled, and one of her straps had developed a fold

She rubbed her hands, one then the other, as though she were cold
The back of her dress was cut down to there
She now seemed tired, her hair was tousled, and one of the straps had developed a fold
of which she was entirely unaware

It was hard not to stare

(18 March 2016—posted March 19th)