Brief Encounters Poem by Tom Billsborough

Their midweek affair, urbane and regular,
Conducted with care in the convivial
Surroundings of the anonymous motel,
Gave Bald Cyril and Bashful Flora
Just the right balance of pleasure and danger.
Their regular pit-stop of illicit pleasure
To the piped music of the manic motorway
Was to massage the soul and stale conjugal duties,
They supposed, creating a righteous furrow
To seed their legal endeavours
With vigour renewed. But that was yesterday,
Or more precisely the previous Wednesday.
Today, our Bashful Flora was feeling some unrest,
The tightening of her bra across her chest,
A rebellious waist swelling in unison.
What was this? Sedition? As she mused on Cyril's pate
Sparkling in the sunlight and looking like
That huge Supermarket melon, pale yellow too,
She'd bought the other day, now in her lap!
This wasn't right, humour creeping into their hallowed affair.
But it crept and crept into her lips and eyes.
It took her by surprise as it travelled at alarming speed
Through arms and legs and belly and to her very soul,
Shaking her beyond control, into a bouncing balloon
Of hysterics! I am told the scene was fortified
By Cyril's shocked indignant postures, signalling
The final fall of these brief encounters!