End of day, I lifted
my socks up; on my way home
I pick on stones
and best water,
raise my voice to shadows
that try to linger around mine
and when I get home,
the house is lit,
children out of sight;
the TV’s on,
my love; my husband
he’s not in the kitchen…
I know the bedroom
really isn’t ours nowadays,
in the backyard
my lover, he’s there
the cigarette smoke tells the old tale;
once upon a time,
I’d wrap my arms around his waist
then, we listened to the radio
was only he and I;
without the blue eyed devil
in the glass office,
the woman I was when we
first met;
the father of my children,
in the backyard;
I look at him
maybe looking at him afar will
remain our love affair.
That Gut Wrenching Poetry 