Booze and Mahler and Sex.
If you want to come around
she said
bring a bottle of booze
and ring the bell twice
so you brought
a bottle of scotch
and rang twice
and she opened the door
and said
come in
and so you closed the door
and followed her
along the passageway
to the main room
and you heard the Mahler playing
and she took the scotch
and poured two large glasses
and said
sit down on the sofa Honey
and she gave you the glass
and you sipped
and she sat down next to you
and put her hand
on your thigh and squeezed
and she always managed
to get you stirred
and you smiled at her
and the Mahler symphony
was playing in the background
and you associated
that symphony
with sex
and sex with her
and each movement
of the symphony
suggested a given act
and as she moved
in on you
you almost drowned
in her scent
and the scotch
was on her breath
and her blue eyes
stared into yours
and her fingers moved
into your pants
for the prize
and you wondered
who the conductor was
on the Mahler record
and the same Monet print
hung on the wall
the one of some garden
and flowers
and she said
are you ready Honey?
And you said sure
and she took you
along the passage
to her room and bed
and the room smelt
of sweet perfume
and the Mahler faded
as she closed the door
as you both dropped clothes
on the carpeted floor.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Another Night with Miss Pinkie
Miss Pinkie (she dropped
the title Mrs from
her name ages ago)
lay on the sofa
and said
take me if you want
spank me if you will
and he stood
looking at her
a glass of scotch
in his hand
the music of Mahler's
symphony number 4
coming through the door
from an outer room
she lay butt naked
her amble flesh
spread out
her hands resting
on her breasts
who's the orchestra
on the Mahler piece?
he asked
can't remember
she said shifting slightly
her blue eyes searching him
aren't you going to oblige?
she said
he drank back
the scotch
and put the glass down
on the small coffee table
can I sit first?
sure
she said and sat up
and moved over
to allow him room
beside her
he gazed at her
at her dyed blonde hair
at her eyes deep
like oceans of blueness
knowing she had
19 years upward on him
and all she wanted
was a few hours
of talk and laughter
and a leisurely screw
one of the old guys
died at the home today
he said
out of the blue
oh which one?
she asked
the one who sat
in his room each day
and looked out
the window
and said next to nothing
oh him
she said
think he was
broken hearted
she added
he took in
the beauty spot
on her cheek
like Marilyn used
to have years ago
so how about it?
she asked
are you ready for it?
the Mahler piece softened
some moving movement
well?
she said placing
a hand on his thigh
maybe you could put
on Brahms for a change
he said
sensing her hands
move upwards
maybe
she said softly
if you're a good boy
the lights were low
the lights from the street
added a different shade
of glow
ok
he said
and her hands moved
and did their work
and so did his
bit by bit
time over time
the music playing on
in the background
that and flesh slapping
and the sofa squeaking
was the symphony
of a sexual sound.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Evening Date.
Hi come in I've just put on
the Mahler the 3rd Ok? she says
and before you can reply she
ushers you into the lounge where
you remove your coat and hear
the Mahlerian sounds from the hifi
and the smell of her scent and two
glasses of scotch on the small table
by the sofa take a seat she says taking
your coat off to the other room and
you look at the Picasso print on the
wall and think how long before she
tries to undress you and you sit and
she's back and sits beside you and says
drink up and take in the Mahler and
guess who I saw today and she had
the cheek to ask how I was when she
knew she'd been gossiping about me
to the darn neighbours and you sip
the scotch and look at her plump face
and her deep blue eyes and the red
dress she has on and the overbearing
perfume and how her breasts try and
push their way out of the dress and you
try and get a word in something about
the 3rd symphony or how you like the
Picasso print but she talks on and over
you like a tank her words hard biting with
their Gaelic tones and then she puts her
hand on your thigh and rubs it up and down
all the time her words unfaltering stretching
through the air and I told the old crab to
go smell her husband's crotch and that was
it how was your day? she asks looking into
your eyes her hand still rubbing and your
pecker rising and you say a real downer of
a day but whatever now let's just get into
the 3rd and sip our scotch and she smiles
and makes a grab for your hidden crotch.
poem by Terry Collett
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Although, I am proud of all my Symphonies as they all have something special to say, my particular favourite is the Fifth. As the great Mahler expert Donald Mitchell said that if Mahler had written another Symphony, it would have been my Fifth!
quote by Malcolm Arnold
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Mr Atkinson's Room
You saw Judy on the south wing
of the old folks nursing home
near to Mr Atkinson's room
carrying towels in her arms
I need to speak to you
you said
what about?
she asked
you playfully bundled her
into Bob Atkinson's room
(he was either
in the lounge
or out down town
hobbling along
for small items of shopping
or at the second-hand
book shop looking
for boy's annuals
of yesteryear
which he read
from cover to cover
before cutting out
the pictures
and sticking them
in albums)
what are you doing?
she said
what if Bob comes in?
he won't
he's out
you said
but what if he does?
she whispered
well unless I was rogering you
to kingdom come
I don't think he'd mind
you said
pressing her 5'5'' body
against the door
and looking into her
grey blue eyes
she gazed
into your eyes
and said
what do you need
to talk to me about?
I think I'm in love with you
you said
she sighed
that's the umpteen time
you've told me that
she said
she dropped the towels
on Bob's bed
and put her arms
around your waist
and drew you closer
you moved your left hand
around her back
and your right hand
on her buttocks
and said
that's because it's
umpteen times worse
or better depending
how you look at it
she kissed you on the lips
and you sensed
her tongue touch yours
her eyes closed
and you closed yours
the room becoming
a far away place
her perfume blending
into the air about you
the ticktock of Bob's
old clock on the bedside table
like some metronome
setting the pace
as if it was all part
of some song or some
deep aspect
of a Bruckner symphony
she pushed you away
and said
it's nearly break time
and people will wonder
why we're not there
and put one
and one together
ok
you said
removing your hand
from her butt
the warmth still there
her eyes still captured
in your inner self
thank you
for the Chagall postcard
I've put it on
my bedside table
along with that photo
you gave me of you
got to go
she said
and opened the door
and walked off
down the passage
you looked around
Bob's room
at the ticking clock
and the blue
candlewick cover
and the picture
of some boy
cut out of some
old annual
chasing a dog
over a field
and Judy's lips
and tongue
seemed still
to be there
in your mouth
and her hand enfolding
your waist and back
and Peter in the pants
going all slack.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A symphony must be like the world. It must contain everything.
quote by Gustav Mahler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A symphony must be like the world: it must embrace everything.
quote by Gustav Mahler
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Drying of Hair.
Jane's mother gave you both
a towel from the airing cupboard
after you had been caught
in the rain
running from the church porch
to the parsonage
and then she went off
to carry on
with her pie making
and Jane took you
along the hallway
to her bedroom
and opened the door
and after you had entered
she closed the door
with a soft click
and you both stood there
in the quiet room
rubbing you heads
with the towels
pushing away
the wetness
from your hair
and you smelt the room
the smell of polish
the lavender scent
the smell
of fresh linen
and smell of the flowers
outside caught still
in the rain
and Jane said
You are only here
because she trusts you
she seems to see through
people's veneer
and weighs them
in the scales
in her mind
and you stood still
rubbing your hair
looking at her
the way she had
the towel in her hands
over her hair
the hair all messed up
and she having
that sparkle in her eyes
like the first spear
of the sunshine
pushing through
the window at dawn
and she gazed at you
with her eyes
like polished marbles
and her words
hung there
on the air
like musical notes
on an invisible stave
and you said
I'm glad she trusts me on
just the one look
and Jane smiled
and kissed your lips
her flesh on yours
and the pressing
of skin on skin
and she gently
moved away
and pointed to the sky
and said
Looks like more rain
and you just nodded
wanting her to kiss you
once again.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Urn....
He finally pulled in the drive.
Another endless night at work.
Exhausted, he turned off the car,
and stumbled for the back door.
The neighborhood cat rubbed
against his legs as he fumbled
for the key.
As he opened the door, he noticed
that the light over the sink was on.
Shaking his head, he shrugged, and set
down his lunchbox.
He reached in the cupboard for the
bottle and a glass. He poured a small
shot, and hesitated for a moment.
He could hear the night just outside
the window. Something inside of
him let down. He kicked back the shot,
and headed for the bathroom.
A quick shower, and he found his way
to the bedroom. Lying naked on the
bed, he lit a smoke, trying not to think.
He could hear the ticking of the clock in
the hallway. He put out the cigarette, and
dozed.
He awakened to the scent of her perfume.
He heard her voice, whispering, 'be still'.
He felt the presence of her body in the bed.
Her long hair draped across his face. He
felt her on top of him, her heat and her desire.
He raised his face to kiss her....
And then she was gone! Startled, he groped
at the bed, clutching air. He sat up and flipped
on the lamp.
The room was empty. A few crumpled dirty
clothes in the floor. The book he'd been reading
on the nightstand. But no sign of her!
His hands shaking, he lit a smoke, and blinked.
He looked around the room again.
Every nook, every cranny, every crack in the paint.
Finally, his eyes fixed on her dresser.
A picture of her on their wedding day. A half empty
bottle of her favorite perfume. And the urn.... the
urn, with her wedding ring lying on the base.
He flipped off the lamp, and wept.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There is a world of difference between a Mahler eighth note and a normal eighth note.
quote by Gustav Mahler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christmas Day At The Bunkhouse (Fun Poem 47)
It was Christmas day at the bunkhouse
everyone had sat down for a meal
when through the door walked a goat.
He stood and looked around,
then continued to eat an artichoke.
When he finished he sat and asked for a drink,
someone got up and gave him a bowel of water.
The goat looked at the offering with disgust.
Ain’t you got anything stronger that that?
Of course, we have, came the reply.
Well pour me out some the goats said,
and put some mud in my eye.
Someone had some scotch whiskey
and took the bottle out,
then gave the goat a dram.
The goat sniffed it, and then downed it
all in one swallow.
He then asked for more
saying his legs were still hollow.
Another dram was poured
and everyone was amazed to see,
an upside down goat
drinking a bottle of scotch whiskey.
The goat drank all day
and it drank all night.
The lights went out
and the old goat went to sleep.
He dreamed of himself
floating out the door
and all the way to heaven,
but when he got there,
St Peter wouldn’t let him in.
He said God will not tolerate
any drunken old goats here,
so you had better go back
and sleep it off, Billy.
Then put up a sign on the door.
No drunken old goats allowed,
signed by you know who.
You could always try
beneath the basement floor
he’ll greet you with a smile
and a shovel,
even make you hot and warm.
The moral of this story
whether you’re a goat or a man.
Don’t drink too much;
you could end up
jumping from the frying pan
and straight into the fire,
the one that they keep burning
permanently beneath the basement floor.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Big Night On The Town
drunk on the dark streets of some city,
it's night, you're lost, where's your
room?
you enter a bar to find yourself,
order scotch and water.
damned bar's sloppy wet, it soaks
part of one of your shirt
sleeves.
It's a clip joint-the scotch is weak.
you order a bottle of beer.
Madame Death walks up to you
wearing a dress.
she sits down, you buy her a
beer, she stinks of swamps, presses
a leg against you.
the bar tender sneers.
you've got him worried, he doesn't
know if you're a cop, a killer, a
madman or an
Idiot.
you ask for a vodka.
you pour the vodka into the top of
the beer bottle.
It's one a.m. In a dead cow world.
you ask her how much for head,
drink everything down, it tastes
like machine oil.
you leave Madame Death there,
you leave the sneering bartender
there.
you have remembered where
your room is.
the room with the full bottle of
wine on the dresser.
the room with the dance of the
roaches.
Perfection in the Star Turd
where love died
laughing.
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Invitation.
She invited Joey
to her apartment
on the second floor
and as she opened the door
her dog came
barking along the hall
Shut up Bonaparte
she said
Go away
and the mutt walked back
with its tail
between its legs
to its basket
under the table
and she ushered Joey in
and closed the door behind her
and said
What would you like to drink?
tea coffee coke beer?
Coke will be fine
he said
and she told him
to go sit in the lounge
and once he sat down
he looked around the room
and on the small table
by the sofa where he sat
was a photograph of her
and her husband
taken on their wedding day
she dressed in white
and smiling
and he in a black suit
like a hit man
in a mobster movie
and she came in
with his coke
and set it on the table
by the sofa
and then went out again
swaying her behind
which made him smile
then she was back
with a tall glass
of white wine
and she set it down
on the table beside him
and sat down
and began talking
about the night
he had met her
and her husband
in the bar in town
and how she had invited
him over to meet her husband
and he had bought them
both a drink
and while her husband
talked to his friend
she had flirted with him
and made him laugh
and how after that
they'd all meet
on Friday evenings
in the same bar
and her husband
had invited him
to their place
to play chess
and he remembered
how he used to play chess
holding off letting
her husband win
so he could stay longer
and see her more often
and then she leaned over
to get her drink
and she put one hand
on his thigh
and reached over
for her wine
and he smelt her scent
and the brush of her hair
as she leaned over him
and having her glass
she leaned back
her hand still resting
on his thigh
and that look of mischief
burning in her eye.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Difference
i stared out the window
at the bare frozen limbs
of my favorite old tree...
i closed my eyes...
saw leaves bud forth
and turn green...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i stared at the young girl
reading at a corner table
i closed my eyes...
and saw an old grandmother
washing dishes with her grandbabies
playing in the floor at her feet...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw the young man
carrying his son on his shoulders
i closed my eyes...
and saw an old man standing
by his son's casket
draped by a flag...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw an old man
standing on the corner begging
i closed my eyes...
i saw a young boy
playing ball in the street
laughing and dodging cars
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a crack head shivering
by an electric heater in a bare apartment
i closed my eyes...
and saw a young a/g student
helping some kid with his math
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a desperate girl
walking the streets
looking for a john
i closed my eyes...
and saw a young girl's room
stuffed animals on the bed
pictures of her and her daddy on the wall
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a young man
wild-eyed with fear
in a prison cell
i closed my eyes...
i saw a young boy gone hunting
with his grandpa on thanksgiving morn
with his dog by his side
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i pulled back the veil of time...
knowing, there is no difference!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why Did God Close That Door?
He closed the door
and touches you but
you do not understand
why.
You silently cry.
He hears it.
You still do not understand
why that door is closed.
Until you find smoke
in the sky
Until you hear about
the dead people
in the room
Now you know why He kept
on closing the door
And here is one that He
opens for you
He says Welcome
This is the home reserved for you
Beloved.
Inside it is a garden
Flowers bloom
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A glimpse
a glimpse
the half opened door
some would say
a half closed door
it all depends on the
state of mind you are in
well half closed for pessismist
and half opened for optimist
half opened or half closed door
so long as it is open
and not close
a good exercise for the mind
of a story teller, novelist, a film maker
a glimpse at the half closed door
the mind is thrown open
like the kick you would give
a half opened door
so that you and pet cat could
glide through easily
the stories that start coming out
from a glimpse at the half opened door
agatha's murdered corpse lying behind
a stalker, a ghost in the corridor of the mind
from the glimpse of the half closed door
a million possibilities, ideas pouring forth
half closed door, half opened door
whichever way you may say
it is an opened door
a million stories, ideas, possibilities
knock at the door of my mind
a glimpse of the half closed, half opened door
my half closed half opened eyes
open themselves to my ever curious mind
boundless as the universe
inspired by
A Glimpse
A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night-And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going-of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Good Love
Good love, u got a
Baby, in the heat of the night
U know what 2 do
Good love, u got a
Cherry pie, apple kisses
Everything is cool
Technicolor children in picadilly square
Whisper words, erotica, when u kiss me there
Gustav mahler #3 is jamming on the box
Ill have another glass of u, this time on the rocks
4th of july in every stroke
A symphony of light and sound
Oh, I want 2 die from all the smoke
Fire breaks out when ure around
Good love, u got a yeah
Baby, in the heat of the night
U know what 2 do
Good love, u got a yeah
Cherry pie, apple kisses
Everything is cool
It brings a flash 2 my heart just the thought of u
Plethora of euphoria in everything u do
Any place 2 zero, u are number 1
Baby, in the heat of the night, ure my favorite fun
U and I in each others arms (u and I - each others arms)
Here is another world (here Im protected)
Here Im protected from all harm
Only the naked, boy and girl
Good love, yeah!
Baby, in the heat of the night
U know what 2 do
Good love, yeah (ooh)
Cherry pie, apple kisses
Everything is cool, cool, cool (cool)
Alright, we gon say good love
Right here (good love!)
Yeah
Gustav mahler #3 jamming on the box
U wanna rock? (why not? )
(good love) - yeah (yeah, yeah)
Oh baby, in the heat of the night
U know what 2 do, dont cha?
Good love, yeah (yeah, yeah)
Cherry pie, apple kisses
Everything is cool, cool
Every little funky damn thing is kickin! (good love)
Oh my lord (oh my lord)
My lord (my lord)
(good love, yeah)
Baby, u got the, u got the, u got the good love, yeah
In the heat of the night
U know its alright (yeah)
Good love, yeah
Good love, honey baby
Good love, yeah yeah yeah (yeah)
Cherry pie, apple kisses
Everything is cool, everything is cool
Cool
Come on
Thats how I like it, come on
Technicolor junkie in a funky square (yeah)
Good love talkin when u kissin me there (yeah)
Gustav mahler jamming on the box (yeah, yeah)
Teenage junkie got his foot on the rock get off!
U gotta, u gotta get good love
Good love
U gotta, u gotta get good love
Yeah, good love
Gustav
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Enchanted Wood (Part 2)
The great gates of the castle opened
and slowly he walked forward
not sure what to expect.
Cheers rang out as he entered
trumpets blared a fanfare.
He stopped to take it all in,
everywhere he looked
people waved and smiled
as he moved slowly
across the large courtyard
and through the throngs of people
and into the castle itself.
“If you will follow me M’ Lord.”
A tall smartly dressed man said.
He followed the tall man
across the marble floor.
The man stopped by a door.
He opened it to reveal
a long table filled with food.
“We suspected you may be hungry,
please enter and help yourself.”
He had never seen so much food.
He entered, sat, and noticed he was alone.
“Eat as much as you like M’ Lord,
it is all for you.” The tall man said,
and then disappeared.
Not wishing to be greedy
he took a small portion of the food
and when he had eaten enough.
The tall man suddenly appeared again.
“A drink M’ Lord.” He said
and placed a glass in front of him
and filled it with water.
As he raised the glass to his lips and drank,
the tall man appeared again
“Your room is ready M’ Lord.”
He nodded and yawned
then followed the tall man
to what would be his room.
“I’ll wake you in time for supper M’ Lord.”
He climbed onto the large bed
wondering what was happening.
“Why do you look so worried laddie? ”
“Mr Owl where did you come from? ”
“The window was open
so I came to see how you were.”
“I am puzzled Mr Owl.”
“In what way laddie? ”
“Everyone is so kind to me
and I feel I don’t deserve it.”
“Oh poppycock! ” The owl replied.
“But I don’t deserve it.”
“Laddie, everyone deserves kindness
no matter who they are.”
“I am cursed by the witches curse.”
“Rubbish, there is no curse
and there are no witches,
but all will be explained later.”
“How much Later? ”
“When the time is right.
Now you must rest before supper.”
He nodded and rested back.
It was the first time
he ever slept on a pillow.
“Wake up! Wake up!
You will be late for supper.”
He opened his eyes
and looked around
to see who was talking.
He blinked as a set of clothes
walked over to him and said:
“We are what you are wearing
for supper tonight.”
“Clothes do not talk! ”
“Ah, but we do and so do we.”
All the clothes then danced
around the room.
Standing he looked amazed
and somewhat in disbelief
as the clothes flung themselves
at him and dressed him.
Once they had finished
he looked in the mirror at his reflection,
he looked like a prince.
The tall man suddenly appeared and announced.
“Dinner will be ready in five minutes,
you must come along now.
There is no time to waste M’ Lord.”
He followed the tall man down the stairs
to the dinning room door.
To be continued.
17-18 April 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Mrs Truber
Always be yourself, Mrs Truber said,
Don’t be what you’re not. You sat
And studied her as she sat opposite
Stirring her cup of tea, took in her
Greying hair, her lined features, the
Way her bony fingers held the spoon
That stirred. People try to be like others
And find themselves out of their depth
And drown in the waters of lies and deceit,
She added, bringing her light blue eyes
On you. You began to speak, but the words
Were stuck in your throat. She smiled and
Tapped your hand. We are what we are,
She said, but often we are tempted to become
Actors wearing a different mask, trying to
Be a different person. You nodded slowly
And thought how beautiful she must have
Been once. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke,
And as she brushed her hand through her grey
Hair, you thought you caught a glimpse of her
Youthful self peering out of eyes like a child
Staring from windows in a locked up room.
You sipped your tea and watched as she brought
Her hands together as if in prayer. You closed
Your eyes, but when you opened them again,
The room was empty and she wasn’t there.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Its Only The Dog
They dont write songs like that anymore!
You turn me off, and then you leave me in here
And then Im scratching at, your door, begging you for, some more
You make me hide, so your friends can come inside, and tell me to be quiet
I make some noise and I hear this haggled voice yelling hey whats the riot?
And I hear you say...
Its only the dog
Or maybe the cat
Or maybe the bird
Uh huh honey its only me
He jumps off, his chair, said Im a gonna look in there
My heart hits, the floor, as he came toward the door
He opened up to see, and fortunately for me, I resembled sherpa jacket
He closed the door, admitted he was wrong, about all the racket
Then I heard you say...
Its only the dog
Or maybe the cat
Or maybe its that bird
Uh huh honey its only me
Finally, your friends, say theyre gonna be goin
Couldnt wait to hear, hey, you come out now boy, its all clear
Gave me the sign, I was out in record time, but to my surprise
From under the bed came my friend ed
From behind the drapes came cousin and along with the guys
Now what you gonna say?
Its only the dog
Or maybe the cat
Or maybe its that bird
Uh huh honey its only me
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonia and You and The Promise
Sonia closed
the door
behind her
and leaned
against it
you go out
with me?
she asked
her Polish/English
grated on your ears
look I can't
I have other
things to do
you said
running a hand
to smooth
Mr Dubbin's bed
she looked around
the room
and said
what if someone
come in
and see you
here with me?
what if they think
you been having me?
but it wouldn't
be true
you said
standing up
and moving away
from the bed
you know that
and I know it
but others
they do not
she said
her voice
crisp and cool
what if I undo
my uniform
and show my breasts
and say you did it?
you blushed
at the thought
look
just leave me be
you said
she stood firm
against the door
her hands
on the lapels
of her uniform
you could say yes
she said
you could take me
out to cinema
and then
it would be good
huh?
you watched
as she undid
one button
at a time
you watched
her fingers undo
each button
with deliberate
slowness
if I say yes
you'll stop this folly?
you asked
if you mean it
I will walk
from the door
and we can leave
and I do up
the buttons
before others see
she stared at you
her pale blue eyes
on you
her lips parted
just so
you could see
her small white teeth
where do you want to go?
you asked
cinema is good
she said
in the dark
we can kiss yes?
the buttons
were undone
to reveal
her compacted tits
ok ok
you said
the cinema
it is promise?
she said coolly
you make promise
and keep?
yes I make promise
and keep
you repeated
she began to do up
the buttons
her eyes
looking at you
and she smiled
and said
good boy
we have fun no?
you breathed out
the held in breath
sweat dampened
the back
of your shirt
and trouser legs
but if
you do not
show up
she said
brushing her uniform
I'll say you make love
to me on this
Mr Dubbin's bed
and I make bed
look all untidy
and they believe
me yes?
I'll be there
trust me
you said
just let me go
I need to get
the other beds
made before lunch
she moved aside
and opened the door
her perfume
filtering your nose
off you go
she said
and be good
you went off
to make the beds
and show up
that night
as she knew
you would.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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