Any regular reader of this blog would know that I have sometimes dated married men. Once or twice in my life I’ve fallen in love with one. I’ve never wept and wailed and expected them to “leave her for me”. God. What a disastrous beginning to any relationship that would be!
But being the un-partnered partner of a partnered partner (I just wanted to write that phrase because it amused me…), is, to use a technical term, shit on toast.
And thus today’s poem.
Six o’clock is the cruellest hour
I have known the wracking spasms of the sundown lacuna
When they: the nameless, faceless men
Are eating dinners cooked for them by fatigued wives.
They sit en famille, being a good father; a good husband.
The missus is just not interested in sex anymore.
This is the geisha smoko
The time when we can down tools
Let it all hang.
When we are left to return to empty rooms, pointless yearnings
And too many place-mats on the table.