Day: February 27, 2019

Doesn’t everyone lie?

The president, the senator,

The mayor, the priest,

The insurance salesman.

The prime minister,

The son and daughter

Who try to sneak into the house

Without waking the sleeper

Who is easily disturbed

By far more subtle things.

The creak of the rafters

In a bluster of wind,

The scratchings of a

Prowling animal,

The long soft moan

From the pillow beside him.

What is she dreaming?

Of being chased through a field

By a horde of madmen?

Or was it pleasure,

Provoked by the taste

Of another man’s lips,

The clasp of his arms

Around her naked body.

Will she tell the truth?

Will she say that she

Has never felt such ecstasy?

Or will she say she doesn’t recall,

Or that it doesn’t matter,

Because it was only a dream.

 

© Dennis Hathaway

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