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-31-
Now,
The sun
Had broken the clouds again.
A breeze,
Off the sea,
Danced the curtains
To and fro
In front
Of the dining room window.
She went room to room,
Looking at all his
Old treasures.
Those paintings
He collected through
The years.
All those risqué
Pictures of naughty
“Little Girls,”
Of course,
Done with taste.
Those pleasures of his,
Those “nearly nudes,”
Hung in every room.
Even now,
She flashed back to
How she’d tease him.
She knew that “piece
Of him” and played
Upon it in their times
Of intimate games.
She’d take off a piece,
“A little at a time,”
Strolling around the room,
He became adept at her patterns,
And would even ask,
That she “do this one
Or that one again.”
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He would lay-out
A script for her to play,
He would wait in bed,
And when she had
Acted out a move or part
He particularly enjoyed,
He would reply,
“Oh my little brat
You are so bad..”
Now,
After he was dead,
Those times
Of the “little girl,”
And her “husband so dear,”
She found amusing
Pieces of memory
She would treasure.
But it was clear,
Now,
Alone in the big
Old house,
More than an old man
Had died that day.
There really were very few
“Things” here that meant
Anything to her anymore,
Anyway.
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