The Rendezvous (Poetry)

They swear they just met there for coffee
He claimed he was writing a book
They seemed a respectable couple
So rarely got more than one look

Though those curious might give a second
Even while their light chat was discreet
More went on underneath the formica
Mutely couched in the language of feet

Where his brogue found her sensible sandal
And rubbed his desire heel to toe
Then she slipped off her shoe as rejoinder
Put her pink paisley sock on plain show

While they pored over pages of novel
This coy little dance carried on
And they ate a whole plateful of muffins
Without leaving so much as a crumb

Who’d have thought that a Writers’ Club meeting
Could conjure the flame believed dead
Rekindle and colour their future
And imagine such pleasures ahead

For romance can prove a true tonic
And rejuvenate persons of age
Who have seen more than seventy summers
With their life at its weariest stage

He is stuck in an ice-crusted marriage
She’s alone — widowed twice — with a cat
Penning nursery tales about fairies
He considers her sweeter for that

He is smitten. She glows looking girlish
And soaks up the warmth in his smile
They finish the third round of lattés
Gathered pages now neat in a pile

It’s the first finished draft that he gives her
The story so close to his heart
That his wife would proclaim sentimental
And criticise right from the start

But his new female friend is a treasure
She encourages him to be bold
And allow the Muse go where he fancies
Let his tender love story unfold

All too soon she must leave for the bus stop
He escorts her with old-fashioned care
And gives her his arm as they’re strolling
It’s November but Spring fills the air

It’s their own bitter-sweet Brief Encounter
Stolen hours of joy once a week
All passion restricted to footsie
And the quick parting peck on the cheek

Then it’s back to their homes with the knowledge
Although they might dream of sheer bliss
That nothing will change — he’s too married
And she’s banking on no more than this