On-line Date

 

The flashing box on the screen caught my eye,
You’ve got mail, it said; a post in reply.
Months of nowt and now this, a winking tease.
So here’s a riddle for you to answer please –
however you search, there’s a price to pay;
sixteen quid to read what she’s got to say.
A cost for the quest; pay as you go. So
I paid up, took a chance, gave it a go.
Looking for friendship, nothing serious,
cos he’d fled with a tart (mysterious);
first time at this lark after thirty year.
Male company was needed, that was clear.

 

I wrote on line for some weeks, this and that,
stuff, then cast my hook into online chat.
Coffee and cake? I floated the question.
Just an hour, was my baited suggestion.
I spied her on the bridge, scanned from my pew.
She waited. Hooked. I hid my lust and knew
the trip to town had been to some avail.
Was she the one? To save me? The sweet Grail?
In sight, the quarry at the meeting place.
‘Sorry I’m late’, I bent and kissed her face.
She was breathless. I took her arm and smiled
and led her to the cafe like a child.
In damp heat, I sat her at a table,
ordered coffee. Weighed her. Gently. Stable.
We talked of the weather, laughed at the rain.
Three cups it cost to know we’d meet again.

 

Our second date was great, a cheap winner,
no high-brow theatre or costly dinner.
Someone with a dog, just friendship, she’d put.
I proposed a woodland walk with her mut.
Gently, gently to catch the fish. We met
a week later in public with her pet.
In the dark car park she seemed reassured
by ramblers and my dog newly procured.
We set off with intent, me with a smile
and a calculated touch at each stile.
We shared some chocolate under pine-green trees.
Damp wood, rutted mud, dogs scattering leaves.
Holding hands at Holt Stream, we jumped across,
and up by Banham’s Rock she slipped. The moss
caught in her hair. She laughed and I grew hard.
So I grabbed her, kissed her, caught her off-guard.

 

By summer’s end I would be in her bed;
it was easy in the end, like I said.
Gently to catch the fish – bird, just the same.
They’re plump to be plucked, they’re mine in this game.
I lost her laptop in Loxley land-fill:
they never learn that they’re an easy thrill,
never learn to listen to their mother.
I drowned the dogs – they were too much bother.

 

The flashing box on the screen caught my eye,
You’ve got mail, it said, Looking for romance?
I posted a reply, another chance
to gently trap the bird and watch it die.