Inigo sighed and sighed again
Poured reheated coffee dregs
Into a chipped stained china mug
Spat on a finger to rub at the white ring
Spoiling the walnut veneer of the
Reproduction coffee table from D.F.S.
Claw foot with cabriole legs.

Lighting a cigarette
And watching smoke ring chains
Rising, widening,
Kissing the ceiling, vanishing
He picked at a scab on his cheek
And licked his finger tip
Clean of the bleed.

A coughing fit sent the drink,
Rifling nostrils
Splashing onto a photo album:
Holiday romance girls posing,
Perched on rocks
Or donkey backs at Camber Sands.

A time frozen seraglio
Celluloid captives,
Candid glamour pics
His coy mistresses
Smiling shyly
Folded arms and hands
Obscuring private niches.
Women enjoyed and waved goodbye.

That one he took at Maidenhead
Said he’d never leave her, love her forever
Skinny brunette with cascading hair

‘What did they call her? What was her name?
Ah well, love’s a sordid game'

A sudden sour tide of memories:
Games played, promises made and,
Like hearts, broken.
The eyes and smiles
On half forgotten faces
Of lovers - and some just sex
Washed over him

‘It's time to clear the decks'

The Queenie flared
As stripped snaps from album wallets
Fed the flames.
Spiralling coils of choking smoke
Blue, red, purple, stabbed his throat.

He tonged Martha from the pyre
A brand plucked
From the bonfire of vainglory
A beauty from the ashes
Slender vibrant Martha
Elfin sprite
Who brightened darkest days
With tinkling-rain laughter

“Ah, that was her!”
Maidenhead? ... Martha,
“Ooh la bloody la!!”

Martha drank her tea, with thoughtful sips,
And brushed her lips
On the print of her son's graduation.

She blushed her cheeks and checked her hair
In the station buffet mirror.

Inigo was found at last.
The search for her only, lover,
The plunderer of her virginity
Was over.

‘I wonder if he remembers me’

Greying now,
Stout, ashplant reliant
Arthritic but comely
She stabbed the bell
With the tip of her stick.

Inigo cursed the disturbance
Straightened his threadbare hairpiece
And zipped his fly as he made for the door.

“Can I help you? What d'you want?”

He spat at the rain swept
Vaguely familiar face
Just beyond the burglar chain.

A pregnant poignant pause;
The princess ball gown
Dreams of a hundred or more
Sleepless nights scuttled from the floor.

As she turned to limp away,
Martha sighed and sighed again,

“Sorry to have bothered you
Wrong address...wrong man....”