Here's an Idea

I think that we should have sex.
There, I've said it. I tire of coming
Out here with my coffee each morning
And finding you sprawled out beneath
That straw hat, and, having so found
You, finding you also so fetching that
I become anxious. My coffee grows
Cold. My paper's unread. Any plans
That I had for the future become like
Old ads on a billboard. They get pasted
Over by thoughts of me coaxing you
Up to my room, and, of course, when
It gets to be lunchtime, you leave,
And my life loses meaning. I try
To sit still and put up with unsightly
Mothers and boisterous kids who
Take over the patio after you've gone.
An hour of splashing and screaming
And crying sends me back upstairs
For some peace and a drink. I turn on
The TV, but mostly I ruminate,
Thinking we ought to have sex.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 20 times
Written on 2021-02-04 at 22:02

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