Sophia lies beside me
on Mr Cutt's bed.
Mr Cutt died
some weeks before
and his room's still empty
waiting to be filled.
I watch her lying there,
her blue uniform
pulled down now,
her underwear tossed
across the room somewhere.
It hadn't been the best ***
having to keep quiet
in case others
in the corridor
heard us at it;
she having to quieten
her grunts and woos and ahs
that she usually did.
I lay there now dressed,
slightly out of breath,
taking in her quietness,
her Polishness now silent.
She raises a hand,
fingers thin,
nails painted
a pale red.
Is that someone
calling you?
She whispers.
I listen,
straining for sounds,
staring at the door,
wondering who it maybe
calling me?
I rise from the bed,
zipping up my zip,
going to the door,
noticing her underwear
lying on the floor.
I stand behind the door,
ear to the wood,
wishing I'd become
invisible if I could.
Sophia gets off the bed
and stands by the sink,
just out of sight.
I open the door
and go outside
and peer along
the corridor.
O there you are,
Matron says,
could you meet me
in the entrance:
we have a new resident
coming today,
a man,
a Mr Gent.
Of course,
I say,
closing the door,
wondering if Sophia
will pick up
her underwear
from the polish floor.
I follow Matron
down the stairs,
a stickiness reminding me
of the deed just done,
an adventure Sophia
would say
for another day.
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 9:55 AM UTC
Sophia lies beside me
on Mr Cutt's bed.
Mr Cutt died
some weeks before
and his room's still empty
waiting to be filled.
I watch her lying there,
her blue uniform
pulled down now,
her underwear tossed
across the room somewhere.
It hadn't been the best ***
having to keep quiet
in case others
in the corridor
heard us at it;
she having to quieten
her grunts and woos and ahs
that she usually did.
I lay there now dressed,
slightly out of breath,
taking in her quietness,
her Polishness now silent.
She raises a hand,
fingers thin,
nails painted
a pale red.
Is that someone
calling you?
She whispers.
I listen,
straining for sounds,
staring at the door,
wondering who it maybe
calling me?
I rise from the bed,
zipping up my zip,
going to the door,
noticing her underwear
lying on the floor.
I stand behind the door,
ear to the wood,
wishing I'd become
invisible if I could.
Sophia gets off the bed
and stands by the sink,
just out of sight.
I open the door
and go outside
and peer along
the corridor.
O there you are,
Matron says,
could you meet me
in the entrance:
we have a new resident
coming today,
a man,
a Mr Gent.
Of course,
I say,
closing the door,
wondering if Sophia
will pick up
her underwear
from the polish floor.
I follow Matron
down the stairs,
a stickiness reminding me
of the deed just done,
an adventure Sophia
would say
for another day.
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