poem 2016 / 070

Night Cream

Bathroom ablutions,

my face pink from hot water

as I dab the heat from my eyes.

The mirror has steamed up

despite the heat of the night;

his late arrival from band practice

timed for me to be long abed

but I waited up.

Hot tea and digestive biscuits,

late night American sit-coms.

He slips off his clothes,

drops them in the laundry

“Hurry up with the sink.”

I see the lipstick stain,

Ruby Red, smeared across

one collarbone

as she slid to one side.

I don't look down.

I don't want to see his flaccid cock

that hasn't touched me in more months

than I can count Sundays.

“All yours.”

I slip into bed, trying not to imagine

what she looks like.

A younger me?

I reach for a book

and hear the shower start up.

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Image: Grinding the Rails 2016 by Rachel Green. oil on canvas board 89mm x 63mm  £35 free postage