Of rainy Saturday
My mind is all a whirr
Gossip abounds
A flurry of sounds
It's all a buzzing blur
Sat in the corner
I'm little Jack Horner
As words flow without pause
I'm a voyeur extreme
In a nightmare dream
A lost and lonely cause
Unnoticed I'm not
Strange looks are shot
At the sole man in the room
An awkward half-smile
Disguises the guile
More than the sweet perfume
I'm involved, nonetheless
As discussions digress
From shoes to hair to men
I'm tempted, I find
To denegrate my man-kind
And I almost do, when
The realisation hits
Suddenly I'm in bits
Turned traitor was almost complete
Shocked at my flaw
Standards so poor
I nervously shuffle my feet
It's a battle of wills
Against their Borg-like skills
What did I almost become?
Assimilating all
My pride took a fall
As I almost turned Dance Mum
