Mornun’ Mawther Poem by Stug Jordan

He gets up when she does,
watching her change,
following her shape around the room
with his eyes, that aim her kisses.

Hair brushed in mirrors,
re-tying and tidying in a hurry,
she storms past his outstretched hand
as she hears the kettle click.

He rubs his eyes to see
cold fields, yellowish,
swaying sides into the sun:
her shoed footsteps echo in the hallway.

She reaches the door before he does,
rushing a kiss in sunlight
before stepping out with her keys,
like a warden, head bowed.