Saturday, 27 May 2017

Elusive Skirt

She hardly needed to be quiet as he
slept like someone satisfied,
as so he should be but
nevertheless she tiptoed
searching for her scattered clothes,
closed the bathroom door with a
delicate click, studied herself under the
harsh light: the marks he’d made
were raw but would fade.

She stole a fingerful of his
toothpaste to abate his taste,
dressed in haste, needing the
coffee her husband would have brewed,
careful her dangling shoes didn’t
bang the doorframe whilst she
scanned once more that
scuzzy floor for her
elusive skirt.

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

1 comment:

  1. I admire this protagonist so much! Would that I could be such a force of nature, sometimes... ~C