Edgar Allan Oliver
The Livingroom - Poem by Edgar Allan Oliver
I came home unexpectedly,
and as I approached the gate.
a male from inside said 'OOH',
was I too early or too late?
I hurried up the garden path,
as fast as I could go.
both gates I'd left open, were locked,
this made my progress slow.
I wanted to race to the window,
to see if good or bad.
The fear of seeing what I feard, did not,
but I rather wished I had.
My mind was sparking thoughts,
like fireworks in the night.
Heart, heavy, racing, a lump came in my throat,
Palms all sweaty, mouth was dry, my chest was oh so tight.
I think this bought some time,
for my woman and her lover.
A bad decision to not go to the window,
gave them a chance to recover.
When I walked into the living room,
I saw her sitting there.
A dressing gown across her lower half,
What had happened here?
Her face was white as though in shock,
her hands were trembling too.
Had I interupted something,
I wished this was untrue.
Her hair was all dishevelled,
her eyes looked wide with fright.
Was they not expecting me back so early,
things did NOT look right.
It was warm outside with windows open,
she shivered, and said its cold,
another man stood in shorts and t-shirt. About 25 years old.
He turned half toward me,
In the direction I did stand.
A protruding bulge within his shorts,
tried to hide it with his hand.
His face looked flushed and worried,
like I had caught them in the act.
I'll take this memory to the grave,
and I'll swear on oath this fact.
Because I had not seen them,
does not defer from the fact.
The fear of my gut feeling tells me,
I almost caught them in the act.
They had been messaging a long while,
on facebook and her phone.
She was his woman, sweetheart, love,
I feel sickened of what I've read and cut me to the bone.
Neither did admit it,
when I asked them fair and square.
About the illicit encounters,
and their suspected affair.
In all relationships that are built,
relies on honesty, thruth, and trust.
I still love her, though truth and trust are gone,
and ground into the dust.
My mind and life in termoil,
as it happened in such a way.
I will be haunted by the memories
until my dying day.
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