The mews house
The door at the back is the one I prefer.
Its viscous handle still damp at midday
sited where no breeze can dry or use.
A green skin shines uneven bricks.
Chewing the air, I’ve forgotten the bright sun
of the front square, its carriage-able sweep,
thin-gated garden all breasted with bloom
like a girl in a balcony bra. I don’t want
an easy ride. I want your thin blankets.
The back bedroom’s lack of light so thick
I cannot write a word
unless I look hard. Unless, my love, I think.
walking the lime tree drive that time
with the sky all swinging blue
around our fingers and you
masquerading as the wealthy industrialist
all this is mine. I almost believed
you would give it up for me.
Or we’re older and I’m back in town
with you attentive in a softly-carpeted hall.
This time I imagine a government job:
a desirable unobtrusive place.
Later I suppose we might go out
not overdressed
to a dinner slightly spoiled
by respective middle-aged appetites
but for now our eyes meet
before you take my coat or scarf
and comment on country weather.
The mirror is gold and quiet.
BRIDGET KHURSHEED has had poems, stories and reviews published
most recently in Gutter, the Eildon Tree, Poetry Scotland, The Rialto,
The London Magazine, New Writing Scotland and The Shop. She edits
an online poetry magazine and blog, poetandgeek.com.
The door at the back is the one I prefer.
Its viscous handle still damp at midday
sited where no breeze can dry or use.
A green skin shines uneven bricks.
Chewing the air, I’ve forgotten the bright sun
of the front square, its carriage-able sweep,
thin-gated garden all breasted with bloom
like a girl in a balcony bra. I don’t want
an easy ride. I want your thin blankets.
The back bedroom’s lack of light so thick
I cannot write a word
unless I look hard. Unless, my love, I think.
walking the lime tree drive that time
with the sky all swinging blue
around our fingers and you
masquerading as the wealthy industrialist
all this is mine. I almost believed
you would give it up for me.
Or we’re older and I’m back in town
with you attentive in a softly-carpeted hall.
This time I imagine a government job:
a desirable unobtrusive place.
Later I suppose we might go out
not overdressed
to a dinner slightly spoiled
by respective middle-aged appetites
but for now our eyes meet
before you take my coat or scarf
and comment on country weather.
The mirror is gold and quiet.
BRIDGET KHURSHEED has had poems, stories and reviews published
most recently in Gutter, the Eildon Tree, Poetry Scotland, The Rialto,
The London Magazine, New Writing Scotland and The Shop. She edits
an online poetry magazine and blog, poetandgeek.com.
