THE COVE sh (c) 2008

That Sunday when you arrived
outside my house, your car revving
to a stand-still - I saw a wild weather drive
along the coast road and the day ending
with a puce red sunset and dinner.
You saw  - yourself, with nothing better to do.
Your kids at home with their mother and
you on the wrong side of the family, having been
caught pants down, with Emily Kite.

As we drove toward the motorway -
I saw bright blue sunlit skies and watched
snow clouds roll in on freezing winds; saw
the flash and heard the 'throop', of the cars
and lorries disappearing behind us
and I watched for the coast.  You saw Ilsa,
and with furrowed brow - detailed your arguments;
then re-hashed Emily Kites deceptions,
while watching the clock and driving -
foot hard on the accelerator.

When we arrived in Lulworth, I saw rain washed
emerald hills and a pewter coloured sea.
Heard the crash of waves hitting rock
and tasted the salt on my lips - snatched
the car door back from the wind.
You saw where you parked up with Ilsa
and the kids; you and her locked in anger
inside the car and your children
playing lonely on the grass outside.

With the Sunday papers held over our heads
we sprinted the fifty yards between the car
and the red glow welcome of the nearest pub,
bursting through the door - the wind and rain
behind us.  Once inside, I saw a roaring log fire,
smelt the fresh coffee and wanted to ravage the cake.
You were reminded of frustrated outings
with Emily Kite and reminisced her hidden agenda's,
abandonment in France and disputes in lay-bys.

After ordering at the bar we took possession
of the chintz covered sofa set along side the
inglenook hearth - and awaited our tray.
I saw the man and woman sat on the sofa opposite,
we made eye contact and exchanged smiles, then
in comfortable silence, listened to the
'snap and sizzle', music of the burning logs -
Savoured our coffee and cake. . .
You were still having a rotten time some where
in France - I think, or was it Cornwall. . .