Sex and the British

They’re drawing the curtains in Dorking,
Lighting the candles and pouring the lotions.
Switching off TV’s and shelving resentments,
Checking on children asleep in the darkness,
Creeping   up hallways   like teenage lovers.
Stairs and hopes creaking in equal measure.

Clothes  are  Falling   in Fulham.
Tights  in the hall and pants in the bathroom,
Bra on the shelf
And doubts in the kitchen,
As   newly  acquainted
Swap fluids and feelings,
Hoping for phone calls,
Instead of  diseases.

Lay byes are calling  in Luton,
Cars with their  lights on  wait on the verges,
Engines and pulses expectant   and purring,
Strangers stand round swapping cider  and sadness,
While a dozen  pale  bottoms nod in  the moonlight.

They’re re-lighting  fires  in Bolton,
Forgetting the  years of disinterest and boredom,
Of nights by the TV, tight lipped  and separate,
Silent pub meals and bad-tempered breakfasts.
Tracing the contours of flesh and forgiveness,
Opening like flowers,
Hoping for  closeness.

They’re turning the lights off in Reigate,
Closing their eyes and thinking of strangers,
Scarlet or George,
The Doctor, the cleaner,
The local MP or the teenage neighbour. 

Excitement is building in Brixton.
Fingers  are probing and gripping the carpet,
Bodies are merging and arguments fading,
The bills and the mortgage,
Frustrations and failures,
Pushed aside like regrets and the duvet..

Flesh is moving  in Folkestone,
Thighs  colliding and buttocks vibrating,
Tongues exploring  and hands rediscovering
Blood engorging  and nipples darkening,
Like  monsoon rain clouds,
Or over-cooked porridge.

The explosion is coming in  Eastbourne,
Necks  are straining and head boards rebounding
As thighs move faster, grow weary and slacken.
And grunting and gasping  gives way to elation,
The volcano erupts and  mine shaft convulses,
Horses break free
And  barriers lie broken.

The deluge has fallen  in Derby
Eyes make contact and souls fall   open,
Allowing brief entry of one life to another,
So even bored couples feel slightly connected,
While the lucky embrace,
Like shipwrecked sailors,
Listening in silence to mermaid and dolphin,
Singing of coral and sand and completeness.

They’re comfy as sofas in Sutton
Lying in gloom and watching the ceiling,
Thinking of  love and  looking for tissues, 
Swallowing tea  and checking their emails.
Making small talk about gardens and daytrips,
Feet and hearts meeting,
Under the covers.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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Date: 6/1/2017 8:13:00 PM
A lot of hanky panky going on there. I have never read a poem like this before. It is different. It is an awsome poem.
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Date: 5/22/2017 1:05:00 PM
made me think of the song 'love is all around' by wet wet wet:-) Really made me lol:- I guess this poem could be written about anywhere in the world BUT the Derby line got me as I spent my childhood growing up there lol:-) hugs jan xx
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Date: 4/23/2017 10:37:00 PM
Wow! What an affecting journey. I've never heard so many metaphors for the "hanky panky" but it was awesome they way you described the act and the build up. Good write!
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