She Looks Delicious in Black

mother was late,

(She’ll be here soon. Stop.)

after her noon tea at Andre’s,
soaking up too much chocolate,
no doubt, but we waited, and I
couldn’t stop touching her,
she pulling away

(Your mother, she’s coming,
you know.)

and I still held her close,
from behind,
running my index finger along her neck,
teasing her hair, inching my right hand
inside her black blouse.

but mother was late, late again,
and she removed my hand,
sat down in the rocker, pulled
her black skirt up,
teasing me with bare white skin.

(Don’t do that, she mocked.)

What?

(Don’t watch me, she grinned.)

but I stood behind her again,
touching her soft skin,
and we heard the car door slam.

(Your mother is home.)

she stood up, stopped the rocker,
held me close,
then went to the door.

(Say hello to your mother.)

Hello, mother.
How was tea?