poem

Hard nosed, she said, this job is making her,
Hard nosed.
But her hair
when I massage her scalp
is still as soft.
Her cheek
as it brushes my lip
is smoother tham dreams of velvet.
Is it always so?

She walks across The Rainbow to say goodnight.
Before she got the job she would have kissed me.
Old lover.
It would have been alright,
would not have mattered.
but not tonight.

She holds before my face
one cheek,
its caption reading "kiss here" . . .
"Thankyou. Mmmm", she breathes, "thankyou",
goes out into the rain
and home.
Home we both go our different ways,
alone.
Somebody else took one of our fancies once.
Is it always so?

And I write of looking forward and back.
Of yes, and no.
Hard nosed, she said, this job is making her,
hard nosed I go.
Is it ever so?