A Woman Called Lunare Poem by Peter Rhodes

They told me she was lunare
I said I didn't care
After all
It only made her sad
And
It made a change from blaming me.

They told me she was lunare
A woman extraordinaire
She made ‘love'
So often
That it didn't matter
What her name was.

They told me she was lunare
And I said
I don't know lunare
And
I never knew Tuesday
Either
So what does it matter?

I see she's no longer lunare
In fact she's someone else
And maybe someone else again:
Strangers are her bedfellows
And
It doesn't get stranger than that.