Day Return
Breakfasting alone as you’re on a ‘Jolly Boys outing’,
I take up again with my old chum Radio 4.
Too early in the marriage to consider this time to myself a treat,
rather it recalls years of matinees  avoiding ‘odd woman out’ stares.
Finding myself the only single at weddings, dinners…
wanting to floor the car home to bed and chocolate,
instead dragging on my I don’t care motley.
Understanding that Christmas, Easter, Bank Holidays
families closed the circle to outsiders.
So binged on TV, Old films, vodka…
She values her independence
friends writing me a ‘Tatler’ life
but my social whirl was Bluewater every Saturday.
Too proud to confess, I wanted a man beside me .
Then you pitch up; belated for kids playing in the garden,
nevertheless filling the house with your gentleman’s paraphernalia,
my diary with family dos, race meets, rock concerts.
So returning home to pot luck dinner for one,
I lie in bed listening over the ‘you substitute’
telly, for your key,
until Hallo, Hallo up the stairs, and I smile.

Fiona Sinclair

If you have any comments on this poem, Fiona Sinclair  would be pleased to hear from you.