Dedicated To The Passage. Poem by Alistair Plint

The coffee pot is empty
the lingering
after breath
is as good as the
freshly brewed
steam
that filled this kitchen's
early morning air

Hear her coming
heels
give her away
Playing the wooden staircase
like a percussion instrument
Perfectly timed
bass doubles
sing
her welcome

While weltering
winter leaves
spread across
the frosty ground
whistle
the announcement
of her arrival

The cat hides, behind the door

She seats herself
on the Granite
of the cupboard
Folds those legs
like a 1950's
bombshell
Lights a cigarette
stares
through the after
smoke

All she wants to do
is talk about sex
Make sweat
pretty
as the rose
she based
her lip colour on

Tells me she
likes chocolate

Mentions
restraint

Points
towards
the passage

Not everyone
talks
as good
as they
give


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