Under The Bed
It is possible
To lie beneath
The bed
Of your beloved
Amid the mites
And dust and dark
Straining to watch
The stillness
Of the bedsprings
Chewing thoughtfully
On biltong*
Dried and Salted
Drenched in coriander
As settlers did in wagon
Circles curved
Against the
African night
It is possible to wait
Interminably
For sounds
Beyond cicadas
Of bare feet
On bare wood
For this face you love
With such a
Desperate first love
To appear as planned
And yet suddenly
Looking, seeing
This so dusty
So pretty you
Hiding
In mom’s negligee
White froth against the brown
Of younger thighs
And then
At last to hear
The scuffle
The muffled approach
The bedsprings drop
Towards your nose
Deposit dust
You wait, you wait
Movement, swaying
Sudden stillness
And waiting
Passes waiting
Into impenetrable
Silence
No-one awake
In this house
But me
It is entirely possible
To lie unseen
And quite forgotten
Beneath the bed
Of your beloved
On this first tryst
This secret night
Together
While his family
And he himself
Lies gently sleeping
And it is possible
To remember this
Much later
Switching off lights
Turning on the dark
Stumbling careful
Towards the bed
And you
No secrets now
So many bare
And naked truths
So many years
interminable
No longer underneath
but side by side