Runcible Spoon

poetry and prose webzine

Poetry Prose Submissions Contributors Home heart logo Privacy Notice Links Mark Connors

They’re at it again

          after Philip Larkin


They’re at it again. I hear it all:

His vinegar strokes, her banshee howl;

Arrivals. I curse these piss poor walls,

This immediacy, common as vowels,

The overstated. I am rock hard

But too glum to sort my aching balls.


I refuse to take it lying down;

I plot my betrayal in the dark.

I’ll reverse my not getting any frown,

With this necessary evil, my new lark.

I have no desire for him to know:

We will. I’ll bump into her in town


When she’s out with work one night.

I’ll thrive on what we have in common,

Name drop authors, bands, suggest a bite

To eat. We’ll laugh about how stubborn

He is, how narrow. I love her. It’s not revenge

For these unwanted small hour hard ons.