Pink And Erect* Poem by Ian Bowen

In a comfortable lounge,
where soft light
was dimmed for dancing,
Barry White sat as thin
as a silver disc,
and growled lyrics
about 'my everything'.

An unlit candle, new,
pink and erect,
awaited ignition.
Two places were set
with silver and lace.
Flower stalks swam
in the fresh water
of a crystal vase.

In the kitchen, wine
chilled and flakes of fish
drowned in creamy sauce.
A mixture of warmth
and smell aided atmosphere.

She, has just left
the bedroom, where
she had chosen
her most see-through number...

underwear seemed futile.

Then the phone call.

Barry White stopped dead.
The candle was sent
to a dark cupboard,
without a flame.
Flowers wilted while they waited.
Fish splashed against
the sides of a silver sink.

She,
went and put on
her jogging suit
and cried into
one of the lace serviettes
that had been his place.