HOW DO YOU STOP 1951

A MAN AND WOMAN TALK AFTER SEX IN 1951

How do you stop
seeing me?
I ask her,
cigarette by my side,
looking out
the window.

She's dressing,
doing up her suspenders.

Don't want to,
she says, her fingers
moving with straps,
looking at me,
but if your wife
found out, Jack,
it'd be hell on earth.

I inhale, look at
the street across the way.

Traffic is busy
in the street below.

When I saw her yesterday
she asked me:
did I know whom
you might be seeing,
Mags says.

What did you say?
I ask, turning around,
taking in her dark eyes,
the white earrings
she's just put back in.

Said you wouldn't
do such, she says,
stopping her fingers
moving with the straps.

Did she believe you?
I ask.

No, said she thought
you were seeing someone.

I look at her
black bra and panties,
the white suspenders
holding stockings.

Does she suspect who?
I ask.

That b***h at work,
the skinny arse one
with blonde hair,
Mags says.

You know what
she'd say, no way Mister.

Instead it's me,
Mags says,
her sister.

Author's Note

Jack Vettriano picture