Mcdaid's Folk Club Poem by Frances Macaulay Forde

We carefully stepped through the seated crowd,
she smiled in surprised delight
and pulled you down
to whisper invitingly.

I watched the young guitarist finger-pick,
thought about her possessive
hand placed on
your willing arm
and felt sick.


Please NOTE: in retirement I have closed most of my web pages including francesmacaulayforde and poetscornerwa. Both of these pages have now been taken over by a bot. However, I have retained my Wordpress BLOG or my ETSY shop.