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Elizabeth Bewick

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House of Girls

(for Richard)

Beth is the shy one
still not sure of her profession,
I only keep her on
because she pleases you,
most demanding of my customers.

She welcomes you at the door
fusses over you,
makes you feel important,
brings you brandy and coffee
to alleviate the stresses
of the day, the long drive here.

Lizzie runs your bath
softened with perfumed oils,
her skilful fingers
massage the tension from your body
till you sink deep in the waters.

Isabeau wakes you
running her fingers
through your hair, arousing
with wasp–tongued kisses
the liquid passion on your lips,
soft in the unaccustomed morning.

But it is I, Elizavetta,
who am the Madam;
when you tire of my girls
I dismiss them to their cubicles
with a practised flick of my wrist.

It is I who wait on you
in the heat of the day,
until we neither know nor care
if it be noon or night,
day–break or sun–set
behind the close–drawn curtains.

I minister to your needs,
bringing more brandy and coffee,
smoked–salmon sandwiches,
and Fanny by Gaslight
which we read to each other in turn.

I take off my negligee
and the spray of orchids you gave me,
my grandparents' photographs
in the gold locket I always wear
nestling incongruously
between my naked breasts.

Only I have a key to this room –
the girls are not allowed –
but we both know
that when another morning comes
it is Beth who must send you back.

Page(s) 6-7

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