Observation
You came home tonight looking weary and drawn:
you were wearing that skirt I adore.
You kicked off your shoes with the grace of a fawn
as you padded the living-room floor,
then sat watching the news, as you sipped at your tea,
drinking loneliness down to its dregs:
those elegant things that you do, ravish me.
It's divine, how you tuck up your legs.
I'm sure that you wonder just how to go on,
as you eat your lasagna, alone.
Untouchable plaything of Baltimore John ...
if I could just pick up the phone!
I watch every night as the bedroom goes bright.
You undress at the very same hour,
and your body is naked and shapely and slight,
as you head for your go-to-bed shower.
I've never yet seen you do anything fun.
You don't seem to have any friends.
You don't strive or struggle, you don't try to run:
you're trapped in the scope of my lens.
I told the Department I'm quitting today.
They told me I'm losing my touch.
There's things that I'm just not prepared to betray.
You've started to matter too much.
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