Nothing to Fear

All fixed: early arrival at the flat

Lent by a friend, whose note says Lucky sod;

Drinks on the tray; the cover-story pat

And quite uncheckable; her husband off

Somewhere with all the kids till six o’clock

(Which ought to be quite long enough);

And all worth while: face really beautiful,

Good legs and hips, and as for breasts – my God.

What about guilt, compunction and such stuff?

I’ve had my fill of all that cock;

It’ll wear off, as usual.

Yes, all fixed. Then why this slight trembling,

Dry mouth, quick pulse-rate, sweaty hands,

As though she were the first? No, not impatience,

Nor fear of failure, thank you, Jack.

Beauty, they tell me, is a dangerous thing,

Whose touch will burn, but I’m asbestos, see?

All worth while – it’s a dead coincidence

That sitting here, a bag of glands

Tuned up to concert pitch, I seem to sense

A different style of caller at my back,

As cold as ice, but just as set on me.