Kitchen Romance

He was tall and handsome.

Is. I say 'was' like he's dead

Or something, which he isn't.

More is the pity. If he were

Dead, it'd be a lot easier to

Get in and out (of the

Kitchen, that is.)

Because now, he's

Standing there, by the

Kettle, making his cup

Of tea and blocking me

From entering the

Kitchen by my usual

Root, which is a source

Of perpetual frustration

As someone that needs

To eat lunch.

Once - a ridiculously short

Time ago - I was overjoyed

To see him - all tall and

Handsome - standing there

By the door, now, as he

Stomps about (in a fashion

Becoming of a T-Rex),

Snarling as he makes his tea

And grinding his jaw as he

Looks at me, I look down

In embarrassment, but I

Don't know why.

Well, anyway, it's just how

I feel. I don't suppose it'll

Matter much in twenty

Years (when he's tall and

Handsome and married

To a skinny girl who dyes

Her hair blond - a pinnacle

Of neo-middle class cliche)

And I’m married to a man

Who actually knows a thing

Or two about making love

(Not 'shagging' as he might

Call it).

Oh well, what's done is done.

Now, I just have to enter the

Kitchen through the back.

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