Games – mid week poem


she turned on him,

spun round on her spiked stiletto,

hiss-ssing, almost ss-spitting, facing him down –

Who cares about your blue eyes

your hairy chest

and Cuban heels?

Who cares?

She advanced on him

Stabbing her sharpened scarlet nail into his chest

If you can’t be pleasant to me

Smile hello

hold a simple conversation

nod casually in the tea room

pass on  the stairs

If you can’t do that

If all you want to do is play stupid games

–       wink and

–       sigh and

–       touch and

–       beckon and

–       insinuate and

–       imply and

–       then NOTHING

All the boring time

Then I’m not in love with you.

Not any more.


She stood straight

Tall on her new black spikes

Flexing her blood clotted talons.

She stood clear.

From him.

Get fucked

Take your ageing arrogant arse

Out of my life.

Go play games with someone else.


She shut the door

In silence she left him,

a small tap tapping on the hard office floor as she slipped away

From him

Fast and Clean.

(images courtesy Google Images)


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