Within five minutes of being introduced,
his friend somehow deduced, that I should
know, blow by blow, of his sex life:
says he’s finally free of Tiffany; a real corker,
but also a stalker; moved from Devon to Hove
and wove her life around him; gave herself
completely; he couldn’t match her generosity
and thank god she’s left; got herself a chef;
uploads pictures of her dinners to Facebook:
bon appetite, he said, accept he still needs
to sort “no strings” Sabrina; a bit of a screamer
“wink wink” started to think, he could be more
dog; demanding odd jobs and all sorts...
I had an intrusive thought – thought I might
like to set light to his pretentious beard...
If you have any comments on this poem, Susan Evans would be
pleased to hear from you.