Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

After he left her, the bed felt large and cold
but she was nothing if not practical
and therefore took precautionary steps.
She went to Argos, on the first day, got
a huge electric blanket (five pounds off).

Later she scanned some modern magazines
and obtained by post at no small cost
a small, vibrating, battery-powered device
for sexual stimulation. Suits beginner,
soothed the leaflet, in font super-discreet,
but due to the intimate nature of the toy
no refund can be offered once it’s used.
Batteries included in the price.
She smiled. Nice.

Sexual frustration was a new thing to her.
Odd, in fact, to find that only now -
just as a hopeless sex life quite declined -
she should feel desire, like a new bride, stir
for something slightly clitorally-inclined.
He would have been so shocked if he had seen
her serene assembling of the instrument,
her deft insertion of the batteries,
administering of virgin olive oil
for troubled waters. She was alone, entirely
laid back. She disconnected the phone.

But to be frank it came as a surprise
how quick the whole thing was. Vrrroom
and over. Just like that. Barely time
to realise a climax had occurred, leaving
only a memory of plastic whining.
Well, she thought, relationships take pluck
and patience. I can work at this.
And so next day she tried once more. Again
it was vrrroom and over. There must, she sighed,
be a technique. Maybe third time lucky?

At last the process did prove less than fast.
The novelty, perhaps was wearing off.
The whining grew much quieter and more
pleasant. Then, just when she allowed
the thought: there might be something in this - yes -
even for me - the batteries ran out.
Is this a metaphor? she reflected,
carefully replacing the love-toy in its box,
reaching for a well-thumbed novel, and some chocolates.