Girls’ Girls

Girls’ Girls

A fellow temp sits on a fellow swivel chair

Flicks the blonde streak at the front of her choccy hair

She’s got on a nice pair of faux suede flares

and one of those spaghetti strap tops I wish I could wear

Her tote, made of Lilt bottles, recycled, beside her

with a quote on. I tilt my head to decipher

‘Some people just need a high five’ written in Comic Sans

Maybe the friendship won’t go quite as planned

I hope and pray it was ironically purchased

She could be quirky. It might not be in earnest

Despite that she’s nice so I think I might rate her

A self proclaimed ‘girls’ girl’ but ten minutes later

She’s slagging off a woman she’s never met from the paper

It’s bad to worse when she spews out a whole verse

on how she’s only friends with guys – ‘it’s literally a curse’

One of the boys but with a waist and a Kylie Jenner lip kit

Instagram menstrual cup brand ambassador and a wizard with a self tanning mitt

She slinks back and takes a sip of her flat white with soy

Taps her lilac French tips on the desk in a ploy

to look nonchalant and ooze femme in the way that femmes do

You’ve won at the office if you’re relaxed when you’re new

I cringe when she looks Sarah, from marketing, up and down

after a fake smile, small talk, she serves her back a frown

Her judging and arrogance is cause for my tutting

But the picture zooms out and I recognise the rut we’re stuck in

So, I doubt there’s a way to keep my dignity in tact

Thanks to the truth in the disappointing fact

that since she sat down, and it didn’t occur to me

I proceeded to judge her immediately. Instantly.

I suppose I thought I was harmless, observing

But those critiques were ego-stroking, self-serving

I had her pegged as a certain ‘type’

But it’s time to stop pegging women out to dry

This constant, boring, suffocating surveillance

of a sister, a friend, a stranger makes no sense

It’s tiring at best and at worst it destroys us

Let’s bin this cycle and admit we’re all flawless

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