We went out to the theatre
and saw something by Pinter.
My wife wanted us to go
since it was her kind of show.
A drink after and a bite to eat:
expensive time with the box-seat.
The babysitter wasn’t my idea
but I enjoy this girl sitting near
me, driving Clair home in my car.
Wife’s in bed; we might go far,
further than the wife’d know:
as far, as deep, as I desire to go.
Here where I can do without a care,
my fingers touch Clair’s downy hair.
I hear in my ear her submissive sigh
and my hand grips her tender thigh,
feeling towards her tight elastic band
till she halts my tremble-eager hand.
“Not here…” she whispers in my ear.
Beyond the wipers, I spy a lonely tear
from a heart-felt fear on a cold night.
Whither our love in the hot dawn light?
Run like old Hum and dear Lola Haze,
then rot in a cell for too many days?
Her breath comes expectant and steady,
the sweet girl near me is more than ready.
But what of me, I, with the most to lose?
I sit with a wheel and two paths to choose.
Have the innocent girl with wanton lust?
Or keep a score of years becoming dust?
12th April, 2017
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