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)