Matrimonies

Matrimonies

 

#1.

There are two of them

carefully smiling

in the privacy of privet

he trims on Sundays.

Theirs – a practised silence;

furniture hung with dust desire –

lineaments of love.

 

This morning

crumbs were picked off faces.

He, suited and brief-cased,

noted her ragged repose.

Mollycoddled children were

egged on,

school-clothed.

 

The seedy potting shed,

cobwebbed care;

he is there.

Her: needle and thread-

bare pyjamas

and the neatly-framed photograph of

provoked, toothless grins.

 

And while we yearn for

libidinous loves to

rupture our nerve centres and

shatter our Sundays.

Does it always come to this?:

domesticities – hemmed in by sewing machine;

the mechanisms of food and cleanliness.

 

#2

There are two of them

sometimes laughing, sometimes fighting

in the privacy of privet…

She seldom shaves.

Theirs is an easy silence, but

the common quip – it hooks them on

those lineaments of love.

 

This evening

a carefully considered mealtime

was anything but considerate.

She, beaten by the sum of it,

admired his steady repose.

Energetic youngsters were settled,

escape routes closed.

 

This ain’t no Armani-manicured,

kissing couple,

prostituting themselves

for the latest fragrance.

They have the furrows,

the bellies

and the greys.

 

And while we yearn for

libidinous loves

to rupture our nerve centres and

shatter our Sundays,

this is costly and baffling and… more

Pinned down in mutual memory,

the loves, lines,

the babies

and the body contours.