Evening Date. Poem by Terry Collett

Hi come in I've just put on
the Mahler the 3rd Ok? she says
and before you can reply she

ushers you into the lounge where
you remove your coat and hear
the Mahlerian sounds from the hifi

and the smell of her scent and two
glasses of scotch on the small table
by the sofa take a seat she says taking

your coat off to the other room and
you look at the Picasso print on the
wall and think how long before she

tries to undress you and you sit and
she's back and sits beside you and says
drink up and take in the Mahler and

guess who I saw today and she had
the cheek to ask how I was when she
knew she'd been gossiping about me

to the darn neighbours and you sip
the scotch and look at her plump face
and her deep blue eyes and the red

dress she has on and the overbearing
perfume and how her breasts try and
push their way out of the dress and you

try and get a word in something about
the 3rd symphony or how you like the
Picasso print but she talks on and over

you like a tank her words hard biting with
their Gaelic tones and then she puts her
hand on your thigh and rubs it up and down

all the time her words unfaltering stretching
through the air and I told the old crab to
go smell her husband's crotch and that was

it how was your day? she asks looking into
your eyes her hand still rubbing and your
pecker rising and you say a real downer of

a day but whatever now let's just get into
the 3rd and sip our scotch and she smiles
and makes a grab for your hidden crotch.