Sunday, 7 April 2013

Real Real Real - Day 6

Real Real Real

Her wildest Harley rides
never happened.
These moments were stored
in well-ordered files
under fantasy.

Her life raced on
in the monotony
of starched days
and early nights.

Her highlight was
washing day,
several hours
wrapped in sun-dried washing
breathing it's freedom.

Her landmarks
when he returned from the fields,
lit a couple of candle stubbs
and crumpled her pristine clothes
in his rough embrace.

Her wildest Harley rides
happened only in books,
her heart
with Hunter and Hell's Angels.

but belonged
by a lit hearth,
bare feet
touching cold marble
her husband asleep on the rug

Why, then, did the hum of an engine
between gripped thighs feels so real?

Bit of Mellor about Stanza 4. Thanks for John G Hall for the first line and NaPoWriMo prompt to end on a question this time.

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