the pub at lunchtime
is quiet, he says,
I’m eating

this is all knew
I’d find it odd
my dear

leaves him alone
in the wood
are all he has    ..

just a glove, which everyone takes off
with well honed mimicry,
knuckles exposed, brittle *****
in their lack of symmetry, groaned
as they all have a hand in correctly mocking
all the above

let’s do lunch tomorrow
not sure if I can make it
I’m not asking you to cook

light is the lilt
of a flute
at dusk
in a quiet square

dressed to ****
and well yes there was
blood on her
skirt but I know
that’s not what
you meant