A Minor Loss of Fidelity

We bruise into the party in our plumage – I said, Dress up! and you overdid it,
always one to take the pink to its literal limit. You’re beautiful:
the gathering can hardly stand me either and it shows, the way guests stand aside,
grope for more bitter with their other hands. We uncork our prosecco.

You said, as we stopped on the way to buy our emergency sandwiches:
Always take what you want to drink to a party, or what you don’t,
and either way, hold on tight to your glass. The man on the checkout agreed,
said he’d have thrown in his number if it wasn’t against the rules.

You’ve taught me nearly everything I know, so when that woman
– the one who’s almost good-looking – hits on you, I ignore her husband
standing three feet away, ignore her unmissable red-soaked lips.

I think she thought she could get away with it, this slipping out early,
brushing her hand on a woman’s arse, as if no one understands such a thing
in this district; as if to say, Darling, I’m only saying it like it could be!



Your Shadow at Evening
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