The Major's wife

Once she must have throbbed
the widow over the road,
imprisoned behind tall fence isolation
she shuffles to her gate,
looks across at me
sitting on my porch,
captures me like a mouse in a snake's frozen stare,
disapproving of the way the world turns,
disliking autumn’s falling leaves.

But I can’t avoid careless thoughts
speculating on the wild years of her youth,
readying herself for the major's military probe,
occupying a holding position,
parrying his forward thrust
then exploding in blazing shards.

Did she look at him through sultry eyes
daring him into a flanking manoeuvre?
Did she yearn to be swept into his arms,
fearing the war which brought them together
could gratuitously rip them apart forever?

I see her swirl through the dance floor minefield,
listen to Vera Lyne and the Andrews Sisters
spin her through a dark-edged romantic cloud,
watch her sit intimately,
devotedly,
fondling a long-stemmed wine glass meaningfully,
waiting for his shell to burst.

Now she scowls at me from her front gate,
turning her back on young lovers walking hand in hand
down her lonely, bitter-sweet street.