It does not do, it does not do
This tension between the two.
They sit and glare
At each other, then turn,
And into empty space they stare.
Two, of course there are two;
The one’s anger barely controlled.
The other does not smile or smoke;
His hair long and plausive;
Bastard, sitting there,
wants to be loved.
She does not stir
She does not speak.
They talk in whispers,
Anger barely hid.
“What do you do?”
“Are you from the city?”
“Where do you live?”
Bland platitudes exchanged
Over a surface of anger, anger.
The one wishes they had exchanged loves,
That he had more a right to speak,
That he could make demands.
The other, old friend, gentleman,
Empty, sad and full of need,
Just sits there;
He wants to be loved.
The other is- the more forceful.
He is the precious bearer of her load
He says the one will not be travelling far.
He puts the one in his place.
There is no load for the one to bear.
The underground is closed,
He takes command,
A carriage is hailed
The one sent packing
Without a farewell kiss.
The one walks home lonely and alone,
He wishes they had exchanged loves
That he had more a right to speak
That he could make demands;
But the other is her old, old friend.