Not knowing when she should join the conversation,
she clasps her comments between her hands
like half a dozen darts.
Trying to decide when to aim and throw.
The other women wield their words
like Chinese throwing stars,
their precision akin to that
of an international ninja.

She attempts to anticipate lulls–
and after a few false starts of
“Uh”s or “Um”s
(camoflogued by coughing)
she inserts an anecdote.
Waits for it to land.

The other ladies gloss over
her interjection.
Shooing it away like a fly.

Talking in a group is hard.
No matter how old you get,
it seems cliques still exist.

She takes her conversational darts
and goes in search
of a more receptive dartboard.