Five Times That Week 1916 Poem by Terry Collett

The butler
Dudman stares
at Polly
as she stands
in his stark
small office.

Master George
will be back
home again
very soon
with a nurse
for his care,
Dudman says.

Polly smiles;
o that's good,
she utters,
relaxing
(she'd thought he'd
summoned her
to complain
about her
domestic work) .

However,
Dudman says,
that does not
mean that you
will attempt
once again
to enter
or to have
sexual
dealings with
him in bed.

Polly blushes
lost for words.

I've told you
before this
about that,
and warned you.

But George
wanted me
to go there,
Polly says.

Master George
to you girl,
Dudman says,
know your place
in this house;
you will not
have dealings
sexually
with Master
George at all
or be fired
if you do;
understood?

Polly nods;
words fail her.

Understood,
Dudman says.

Yes I do,
Polly says
tearfully,
looking past
Dudman's head
at the wall.

She thinks of
George last time
in his bed
having sex,
his moustache
tickling
her pale cheek,
having had sex
with him five
times that week.