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Barbara Balch

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Part Time Job

Each Monday afternoon she would visit him.
With exquisite politeness and a half gesture
of apology, he preceded her up the stairs.

He asked that she dress in a certain way  -
in a silk shirt, with collar and tie:
requests invariably made by letter.

He was a hard taskmaster. For hours
she typed without break, until her arms ached.
Apart from dictating, he said nothing, nothing,

until five o'clock, when he looked up
and said tea; which she made,
carrying the laden tray up two flights.

Then he talked - about music, writing, art -
the province of the mind: his words precise.
He spoke of Blake and his mystic vision,

of Tissot and his pairs of women
and of Erté's dubious charm.
He showed her The Yellow Book

as she sat enraptured.
Occasionally, with exquisite politeness,
he said bed. And preceded her up the stairs.

 

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