IF I HAD KNOWN THAT SHE WOULD CALL


If I had known that she would call
here for coffee at half past ten,
I would have cleaned the house, and then
made a delicious chocolate cake
to eat off flowered patterned plates,
ground coffee served in matching cups.

But I am glad I didn’t know.
She came, she saw, there was no show;
the dusty mess the house was in,
the sink of pots, the floor of crumbs,
the ginger biscuits from the tin,
the instant coffee out of mugs.

She hadn’t come to see my house.
She held me close and kissed my lips,
didn’t mind the untidiness.
We sat entranced, in company.
She’d come to share her soul with me.
We spoke of love and poetry.

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