Her laughter is feral
Undignified convulsions of disgruntled humour
As she searches for herself
In the contents of a glass
Her liquid reflection staring back
From small mirror’s of ice.
The gin tapering her lips to a grimace,
The juniper berry’s last flush.

And with eyes like the dull glow of a fag end,
She burns a hole in the darkness
A hole through which she readily falls
Until she lands in her lap
And the drained glass scatters iced fragments
Of reflections across the floor.
For she knows full well the true limitations
Of laughter.