One last chance, you said,
to kiss and make up. With
a view from a lake, what could possibly
go wrong, you said, with promise,
that last time before the final time you said it would stop.
So much water had filled my lake, no more could I take.
The turquoise sheen, a diamond sparkle, kiss
from the rounded sun, casting even rounder
and darker shadows beneath
the neat containment, the innocence, of the balcony table.
Yet guilt you denied, filling my ears with
stories re-told, reconfigured, lied,
as I tried to drown you out with the lapping of lake,
the beat of the sun, the silent padding of feet
on the wobble of terrace concrete.
And that was indeed your last chance, as I caress
the rails, robust they are now after a weak defeat.
I’ll feel relief when I close the verandah doors
on a scene about which no one cares how. Just
that now I am safe – inside and out.