The Good Husband
I ate three large sundaes and a burger,
But was still left hungry
My stomach lined with ice cream and yet more hunger,
Two layers of yearning, like moist bread buns,
disappointment in my mouth. Salty like the sea.
As you droned on I chewed my finger nails, my tongue flicking over flesh.
I was staring at your eyes- whisky in sunlight and just as shallow.
For a while, I considered bludgeoning in your face,
but I settled with spilling my wine in your lap
I always knew how much you loved that pair of trousers
How you thought they emphasised the ant-farm in your underwear.
Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m lying. Honestly. We get up and leave together.
Outside, the sun is dying on the horizon,
his blood pooling around the tatty houses.
I feel red tonight. Like blood and silk and her racy lingerie.
I walk with subtle lust, patting your stained trousers just
a bit too hard. You don’t notice- you never do. The cinema? you ask.
No, a hotel, I reply, honey suffocating my voice.
Afterwards, I put our clothes back on, smiling
grin reflected back at me in your face.
I spray the Chanel No.5 you bought her on her birthday,
A month after I unwrapped a box containing a new toaster.
The nasty hotel room is all the richer, so I make the bed and tidy the room,
for the poor maids. Such sweethearts- I even polish the veneers with your tie,
Catching my reflection in their cheap shine, I admire myself,
if you could see me now you would see a lioness, a goddess among men.
Temptation draws me to the bed where you lie, still smiling. Still handsome.
I resist the urge to jump up and down on the duvet of your body and slip out the door,
bathing in the bleached light of the moon, as she cleans up. Everything looks better now:
A speck of blood on my finger is a ruby ring, the pavement a river of silver.
At home, I ring the police. He’s…
He’s not come home….I’ve never been so worried. Lies taste like apples.
Yes miss, we’ll do our best. I am grateful- hysterical- they are inept.
The line goes dead.
I try on my new black dresses, settling on the one which brings out my curves.
I wear a lipstick red enough to make me think of you. I am a good wife, aren’t I?
*(this is a poem written for school, in the style of Carol Ann Duffy)*