207. a private function *

seamed stockings
hove into view
& shapely legs;
she hitches up her dress
pulls down her French knickers,
sits, not two feet away,
and strikes a match
on the bare brick walls
of the outside lavvie
& settles with a woodbine

blue smoke in sunshines
in over the top of the door
and dusty sparkles
floating in the shafts of light

he sees the downy golden hairs
on her arms,
the pink rubber & wire
suspenders on her thighs
and all else that passes
whilst she smokes her cigarette,

she cannot hear the frantic
rustling or laboured breathing
through the peephole
into her private world
but finishes what she needs to do
as does he and flushes

but as she lifted the latch
stepped out & turned,
he swore
she looked back
over her shoulder momentarily
and winked.