Unfunny tumour

went out to a restaurant last night

the moon was a luminous white

woke up in the frost

my earring was lost

and i felt like i'd been in a fight.

the wine was a dry chardonnay

which I'd drunk in the usual way

the meal was quite greek

my dress was quite chic:

a pleasantish end to the day.

the dialogue flowed like before

i'd been confident, witty and sure

had mocked the aesthetics

of bras and prosthetics

as my audience called out for more.

i've tried to remember the page

where this heroine fell off the stage

pored over the text

till i'm troubled and vexed

but all i've discovered is rage.