Three Martinis

 

After three martinis,

Incoherent Mary takes herself upstairs to bed at eight pm.

 

After a while I follow,

And slipping in between the covers

Lie next to her recumbent form,

Sleeping like a log.

 

After a while I feel her heavy arm

Thrown across my chest,

And when I turn on my side she’s full court press against my back,

Warming my spine from neck to tail,

But it’s all involuntary, she’s dead to the world.

 

Early in the morning Mary goes downstairs

For her first cup of coffee,

But I linger on,

Thinking of the pillow talk that didn’t happen,

And the sex.