INTRUDER Poem by Eva Cox

One day she was sitting at table. She smelt odd and I didn't know her. She sat there like a young cuckoo with her elbows wide and forced me aside. The others were talking. No one spoke her name, nor did I know what she was called, in other houses, at other tables. Her ear was pointed and like a pink frown. Her teeth grey glass. Didn't she see me? She leaned aside as if I had already left. Shoulder against my chin. Sleeve in my dinner. I didn't speak. Sitting next to me she filled the room with the icicles of her frosty voice and drove me deeper into my chair.