Spied Poem by Terry Collett

How was it for you?
Uncle asked, lying
Slumped across Auntie,
Some small-beached
Whale, his voice escaping
His lungs as would air
From a punctured tyre.

Fine, it was fine, Auntie
Sighed, her soprano
Voice easing beneath
His sweaty soft bulk,
Unaware their young
Niece was standing silent
By the half open door,

Capturing them in the
Semi light, waiting small
And innocent to ask for
Water, dithering, unsure
Whether to ask and stay
Or simply to close the
Door and walk away.