The Visitor

The woman sits silently on the edge of the bed A thin shaft of afternoon sun from a tear in faded curtains slices the murky room, landing on the man's damp body half-covered with draggled sheets She had completed her dressing. Now slipping into her shoes, She lights a cigarette; exhales deeply, the smoke rising lazily to the ceiling. There is no conversation. She eyes the money wedged under the half-full glasses plonked on the dusty dressing table "See you next week," she says, mechanically, as she heads for the door, collecting the notes. It was not a question. A BRIAN STRAND Vers Libre Poetry Contest placed 1st Sponsored by: Brian Strand Date wrote: 6th March 2022