The cake sputtered cough

is hidden by the hand of polite demure,

debutantes in waiting, in another age,

stylish but now the crumbs filter down

and she eyes another slice of thinly

scrapped bread and only manages a smile,

secretive, she never let her lips show it,

when she bit into the egg and cress on white.

Her fingers gently touches the lip of her friend,

making a show of the mess a cucumber will make

and the table laughs it off, but inwardly

she draws deep excited breaths, the closest