The Affair - Poem by Katherine Gallagher
He had a way of looking at the clock
when he arrived,
while undressing. She never
looked at the clock,
knew he’d leave
after an hour or two
and his fetish
was a way of letting her understand
he’d be home
as usual, for dinner.
Still, this was safe,
they could go on for years —
wait, phone-call, visit.
Not enough, but it was something.
How little, she realised one day
when he sent her flowers,
remembering her birthday
and she cried.
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