AN OLD FLAME

AN OLD FLAME

(This poem is based on a short piece of prose posted January 2018.)

Smart hotel, crowded room,

Pendant lights glittering,

Live music, volume high,               

Waspish chatter drones on.        

‘Well done, my darling.’                

Air kisses right, left.                      

Cold hands clutch at mine.           

Smiles are bitter-sweet.                  

Someone drops a wine glass.                 

Heads spin round in panic.         

He sees me. I see him.               

I remember. Does he?                

Monochrome image,                  

Pillows of pale silk,                     

Sheets of dark satin,                  

Best lover, and worst.

Boyish charm peels away         

To expose his vileness.                

His venom is all spent.                             

Now powerless, he squirms.                                

Gaunt and hollow-cheeked,        

A shock of white hair,

But the same snake eyes,          

Reptilian grin.

Yes, he does remember.                       

He will never forget.                                                     

I head towards the stage.                       

It is time for my speech.