Inspector

he’d prefer it
if the children were out of the way...
putting their sentiments first

he’ll need a stiff
drink when he gets off the TGV

his back’s ramrod
but I’m round-shouldered

I loosen his tie with a look
and he says let’s go to bed

I’m prepared for this –
my pomegranate candle,
my bed unusually presentable

but not for the chill in his steel-
green eyes as our bodies lock

the clatter
of a slender-legged kudu
as it topples on the chest of drawers

he’s already destroyed my confidence
by email,
painting the phenomenal ex

by phone,
only talking about himself

now he does it physically

he tells me he’d normally
walk around naked –
can he do this here

makes salmon lasagna –
reads Peter Høeg
as I search for my chicest
second-hand skirt

he knows what merisier is,
of course

I don’t find him avuncular

he asks for a cloth
to wipe up the drops of water
from the bathroom counter

"You’re hopeless"

it’s all about his four children,
and his ex’s incredible children,
and money

he doesn’t drive
(though he won’t tell me why),
so I ferry him back to the station

he says he’ll be back in a month –
maybe, if his schedule permits it

as he finds his seat in the carriage
I catch him smile,
not to me

at first I think it’s a gesture
to a stranger

then I see he’s laughing to himself,
mocking me standing alone
on the platform, waving

now he’s had his dirty weekend,
his distraction,
his low-budget fornication,
he’s got to get back to work

he bought me a present,
flashed his plastic –
the kids will enjoy it

it’s over because you’re old,
she said – she was younger
by twenty-two years

driving home, I think of other reasons

my nails catch the light,
my first ever manicure – not a
total waste of gloss...
at least part of me didn’t touch him

(First published in The Ocotillo Review 5.2, August 2021)