There on the edge of the congregation,
In her peripheral vision sits he,
Watching with an air of resignation,
The stage, where, under the spotlight, stands she.
The congregation gives polite applause,
Upon completion of a poem read;
He, sighing, during each in-between pause,
Mechanically claps and nods his head.
Her act concluded; she sits with her friends,
Acknowledging their appreciation,
As he melancholically descends
Into a mood of dark contemplation;
He can’t relate to any of this shit;
He’s worried about a no-deal Brexit.