Her lower jaw <br />(a class three, my dentist father <br />would have termed it) <br />jutted forward pugnaciously. <br /> <br />He hair hung limp, <br />pinned at the side. <br />Her body hunched crab-like <br />(probably osteoporosis) . <br />She wore cream blouses, <br />stout shoes <br />and a cardigan <br />when it was cold. <br /> <br />She adored Mr. Cuthbertson <br />(head of radio drama) <br />with the fierce passion <br />of a lonely spinster. <br />She fussed over his tea, <br />typed his memos lovingly. <br /> <br />Her Christian name was Aimee. <br />Sad really. <br /> <br />At her retirement party <br />Mr Cuthbertson pecked her on the cheek. <br />She blushed hotly <br />and happily.<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/miss-jones/
