In London 1975 Poem by Terry Collett

Netanya gazed
out the window,
saw grey morning,
heard pigeons coo.

Benny lay in the bed,
gazed at her backside,
naked, well figureed body.

It's all roofs and spires,
she said.

London is,
he said.

Come back to bed,
he wished.

She stared,
arms folded,
breasts rested.

The show was good,
she said.

It had been,
he mused,
watching her hair,
dark hair,
unbrushed.

You were all go last night,
she said.

It was masterful,
he mused,
moving eyes down
her body from head to toes.

I did my best,
he replied.

It had been.

Best ever.

She closed the curtains,
shut out London sight,
pigeons still cooed.

Got into bed,
kissed his head,
hugged him close.

My hubby couldn't
manage that,
not now.

Too busy with
the younger girls.

Has them,
know him of old.

Safe with me,
Benny said.

His pecker was up for it,
seemed hungry.

She talked of
her younger days.

The first child,
the father died.

Benny listened on,
his pecker retired,
like gun shot out
after being fired.