I saw you kissing him
At the regional marketing awards.
You were taken by his joke
About declining email open rates
In the sector.
–
You arranged a sincere congratulations
About his third-place award,
And slid it under the door of irony:
That we had all paid to be there
And to enter.
–
You were pleased to see he’d worn
His branded Ben Sherman socks—
Revealed below his trouser cuff
As he fished in his pocket for something:
Excuses to talk.
–
Later, you’ll forget the sweet picture,
Clumsily framed on screen, of his kids—
Illuminating both of your faces briefly,
Like the harsh dawn of reality
For nighthawks.
–
But all you’ll feel, lost in the universe
Of Premier Inn sheets, is the coolness
Of his wedding ring on your forearm,
As he sang with the band, to the tune
Of fleeting possibility.
Uncultured Review 