Fine Boi About Town

Name. Tick. Car. Tick. Watch. Tick.

Outwardly respectable by all means 

The false musk of infallibility, his currency

Carefully practiced accent, humor and courtesy,

Always arms length, so you can’t smell his breath

Tick. Tick. Tick

Cools the car she sold her wrappers for

He exits and climbs the stairs jauntily

Whistling in post-conversation mirth 

Buoyed by shallow approval and deep entitlement 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Time slows yet speeds towards his return

Somehow also ceasing when the key turns 

Loud oppressiveness settles like dust 

She greets and is greeted with silence

He sheds his costume right there in the foyer 

Socks tossed to her cowering corner

Tick. Tick. Tick

The household needs…now may not be the time

Mood reading practice never makes perfect

In full view of the robbed, he goes about town

Click. Click. Click. His heels tick

Clean. Different from the thump to her ribs

His public restraint and respect remind her 

She must be mad and deserving of his madness

By – Ginika

Photocredit: http://www.unsplash.com

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