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Barbara Daniels

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On The Wall

 He gazes at her, sees himself as though
 she were cut out of perfect mirror glass,
 reflecting only him, a neat tableau,
 shiny, discrete and framed in mitred brass,
 a sudden imaging, a swift volte-face.
 Of course she’s smiling – must be – otherwise
 she couldn’t be the one who ratifies
 his thoughts, his feelings and his present mood;
 she isn’t clever enough to disguise
 what someone else might call her attitude.

 What’s this? A little hardening in the eyes?
 Watch out, Sarah, it could be misconstrued.
 Just soften them again, relax your thighs
 as if in – well – let’s say it’s gratitude.
 Word’s gone around, you know, that you’re a prude
 so – if you’ve got it flaunt it, let it show,
 he’ll look the better for it. Oh, bravo!
 a harmony of buttocks and true class,
 a wiggle as you listen to him, glow
 at him and let the hidden darkness pass.

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