It must have
Been frustrating;
Always waiting,
For him
To come home.
Sitting alone;
Dinner cold
On the plate.
How many nights
Did you sit,
Did you wait?
Too many,
In this life.
It’s a hard lot,
Being
That man’s wife.
NB
I should say, immediately, that this is not a poem about the lovely (always-hungry-and-never-likely-to-let-his-dinner-go-cold) Mr Brightness.
It followed a conversation I had with a friend a while ago about a previous relationship.
And that’s it really.
Just something I’ve been musing on.
This is bloody great. I rarely read poetry but I am going to read more now … starting with yours because this sent a few shivers down the old spine. Got to take NC & NG swimming now but I am going to mull this one over as also know a friend who had a similar situation … hmm … might have to show her this.
Thank you. I find poetry much easier to read – and write – since you can slot it into the random 5 minutes you get to yourself! I don’t know how you find time for your posts, they’re amazing! xx