Sunday, 3 April 2016

April Poems 2016/02

Can We Just...

He said please and thank you,
complimented her hair, her dress,
the way she'd draped a scarf over the table lamp
to soften the light and set the mood;
the candle on the table
and the two freesias in a champagne flute.

She smiled, blushed,
went into the kitchen for wine and water
(she'd only ever dated one guy
who'd managed the magic trick),
returned with a green leaf salad
with cubes of feta and goat's cheese.

He ate with one hand,
making sandwiches from leaf and cheese,
little green tacos dipped in balsamic,
his fingers dusted with Parmesan.
She thought it curious and endearing;
imagined those fingers deftly eating her.

Her second course, chestnut soup
made fresh with nuts she'd picked herself,
cooked and frozen when the rosehips
bled into the hazel hedge.
His spoon clanked against his teeth,
scraped across the enamel.
His breath as her sucked
grated like the cheddar in the main course.

Lasagne fork scraped across Royal Dalton
ringing against the brace
that held his missing tooth
like a crane lowering a headstone,
His mouth open as his small talk
permeates the room like typhoid from a sewer grate,
an orgy of tomatoes and spinach
making his adam's apple bob.
His smile as she pushes away her plate,
stands, closes her eyes;
fading into confusion and she screams
Get out. Get Out. Get out.
His stumble as he grabs his coat, his keys,
his Can we just... with a string of mucus
from the corner of his mouth
as she shuts the door.


Rose said...

Oh well done, very vivid imagery! Clever use of the word grate, twice - his eating style would certainly grate on my nerves, the best way to get to know someone before kissing them is to break bread with them :)) Ha,ha, imagine what his kiss would be like ... scary stuff :))

Rachel Green said...

you are too kind, Rose. Thank you.