Sign language

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.

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