John Rule
You were working
I never had the time to appreciate
Your translucent skin -
It was overlaid with timetables and guilt -
Or was able to uncover the mystery
Coursing beneath its hard surface.
Your breasts were two pieces of fruit
Clutched to your boyish chest.
Your hips dropped to the floor
Without a curve.
I had plans for a detailed study
Of your inner self, as revealed
By each dimple, mark and pore
From your smile to the folds of your sex.
You were working on the tension
In my shoulders. Your child asleep
In the next room. Snowflakes
Started falling outside the window
As if someone had picked up
The sleepy Bedfordshire town
Emptied of every other male
Between the ages of five and sixty
And shaken it.
Page(s) 59
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