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You came in unexpectedly –
cosmeticised, of course, your hair
as brown as mine is grey; your skin
concealed by make-up skilfully
applied; a scarlet scarf your oriflamme,
imposing red on cream.

You came in unexpectedly –
as beautiful as when, some four
and twenty years ago, I failed
to measure up to your idea
of what a future husband had
to be – and instantly the time
gap closed: two highlights of the past
recurred – that evening at the opera
(how innocent our London weekend was!)
– those moments in the afterglow
at Sandown Bay.

You came in unexpectedly
and brought a strange tranquillity –
my unexcited pulse maintained
its normal beat, unmoved by our
brief touch of hands – and yet I felt
a subtle change – contentment with
a rapport re-established.

I left soon afterwards, and when
alone, while whistling a pensive waltz
in keeping with the mood provoked,
I wondered if your feelings were
to be compared with mine.

Not that it matters  – now.

T. C. Hudson

© T. C. Hudson.

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