EDNOUN BROUGHT FLOWERS.

A MAN BRINGS HIS WIFE RED ROSES.

Ednoun brought his wife flowers,
Red roses, prickly, thorny, like her.
He watched her undo the polythene
Wrapper; saw her eyes gazing at him,
With that what- is-this-all-about look,
Her fat fingers working at the tape, her
Fleshy tongue in the corner of her mouth,
Concentrating on him and the wrapper.
He stood there hands in front, rubbing
Each other as if in preparation for a fight,
His eyes avoiding giving her a direct stare,
Not wanting her to know his secret, not
Wanting her think he was having an affair.
She opened out the wrapper, took out
The roses one by one and laid them down.
Bring me the pink patterned vase, she said.
He brought the vase. She filled it with tap
Water, set it down. He watched as she took
Each rose, snipped each stem and placed
Each rose into the vase one by one until
The job was done. He smiled. She placed
The roses on the coffee table, turned and
Stared at him. His smile faded, his sweaty
Hands fell to his aside uselessly. She opened
Her mouth, a perfect oval saying, all right,
Thanks for the red roses, but who is she?