As I step from my car, balancing cares on frowns,
Keys juggled in plastic bag hands, you stand
In your post-coital dressing gown, smoking stares,
Gazing unblinking, unsmiling, at my banality.
Behind you he tweaks his towelling robe, ignored,
While you lift your cigarette past your cleavage,
Leaning nonchalant against the door jamb,
Bare feet, bare legs, bare eyes that challenge.
My glance drops at your sober Sunday glare,
Knowing you stand in loosely tied Marlboro Lights
Daring me to know you’re barely sated
By this rented front door, and soon you’ll dress.
Covering yourself lightly in late afternoon ease,
Popping to the corner shop as you make tea
To pick up a loaf, milk and make smile contact;
Our knowledge prominent still as we queue.