The Bet

The bet was no more than

five minutes before someone

offered to buy her a drink, her

husband watching

his watch.

The bet was no more than

nominal to her after

two births and feeling

dowdy despite the new

mani-pedi.

The bet was no more than

four minutes old when a

man offered and she

shrugged, said yes, accepted

she’d lost.

The bet was no more than

a regret as she laughed and

accepted a second drink, wondering

when her husband would

intervene.

The bet was no more than

a memory when she felt his

erection against her thigh as he

leant in to whisper in

her ear.

The bet was no more than

a vague recollection as she

felt his hands on her forgotten body,

caught across the bar her husband’s

hot eyes.

The bet was no more,

mislaid as she

pulled his lips to hers,

took his hand and

stood up.

 

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)