With a flick of her hand at her shoulder,
She positioned her story in time
Then set up her stage, her signing space
And with posture, gesture, mime
Took us in.
There was hustle, bustle, movement,
Her fingers flicked it well
No doubt it was a noisy place
Though that she did not tell
She pointed - waiting there, with beer
Expression almost blank
A puff of her cheek, a fat guy
Her belly sagged and sank
I couldn’t believe my eyes, she signed,
And fingered him as Frank.
Then pointing to the corner
She opened up the door
A single digit entered
Though her hands said so much more.
Her hair a curly blonde cascade
Bosoms full, hips that swayed
She scanned the room with finger-eyes
She waved, he looked, he showed surprise
Or was it tinged with fear?
She pounded his heart upon her chest
She dropped his chin upon her breast
She paused a while
Then gave a smile
We’d all mis-guessed the rest.
No, she signed,
You didn’t think Frank …
He’s not that kind of mister
Before, she flew here from abroad
The blonde – it was his sister
So round our Deaf Club table
With poor old Frank maligned
We laughed at how we’d been misled
By her diversion sign.