Ginger (Poetry)

Sunday afternoon, post lunch — the awkward too-full lull
we went upstairs to sleep it off — relax — take forty winks
I was the ‘friend’ he’d gently nagged to come along — meet
                                                                        the family
my own agenda hazy, undecided on.

Perhaps a dozen years between us, give or take
his boyish freckled charm the antidote
to my divorce, his recent teenage marriage rocked
by stormy arguments. His mood denied the shock.

Instead, he shrugged — made fun of it with jokes
while youth and inexperience told all.
I listened like some wise indulgent aunt
with conciliatory murmurs — the nonjudgemental slant.

Comfort came from touching — and all at once the contact grew
too intimate. I pushed away his clumsy hand
then saw the baffled hurt break through again
felt guilty, knowing I was piling pain on pain.

But, undeterred, he nuzzled warm and puppy-keen
so-like a hungry stray I took him in.
Not just out of pity for the hurt was shared
and my gift was free — accepting we each in our own way cared.

So, a little healing one lost afternoon in time.
No strings of any sort, no careless promises.
It was a human matter — a kind, near-tender act.
And afterwards, without regret, I kissed and sent him back.