The Mistress
A “no smoking” sign
like a disapproving parent
I smoke anyway,
Ash falls onto luxurious hotel sheets
He’s an hour late.

I sip the wine, bitter as my stare
In the hotel mirror:
Beautiful, Pissed, Used
He’s two hours late.

Legs netted in black lace, fold on the hotel chair
one more cigarette
Then I’m gone
He’s three hours late.

I reach for my coat
Lipstick stains my wrist like shackles
Instead of the ring I keep hoping for.
In the lobby, my phone dings. One last plea.
“Don’t bother coming.” I type with shaking hands.

The Executive
A “no smoking” sign glints on the edge of my minibar
I turn it around, light a cigarette anyway
One call. A murmured reply
One hour later.

Still no knock on the door
A sip of malt relaxes my shoulders
The lights on roof tops flicker below–
I could buy his whole life on spare change
I’ll punish him for being two hours late.

Heels off, Another shot
I pace – Slow, stalking
Jealousy coils tight in my gut
I called three hours ago.
He’ll regret making me wait.

A key turns in the door
Scotch floats on my breath
He steps in– hesitant, small, mine.
“Your late,” I snap
Then softer.
“Sit down, puppy”

The Wife
A “no smoking sign” flickers
With tired fluorescent lights
I wait with a boxed dinner, warm in my lap
He hardly ever eats at work,
I count one hour

Commuters blur past like ghosts
He’s running a little late.
I hum an old tune and check the clock again
Wrapping my scarf around the boxed dinner
Hoping it stays warm
I count two hours

I pass the time chatting with an old woman
It’s not the first time I’ve waited.
The train screeches. The doors hiss
He steps out, coat rumpled, eyes heavy
But he smiles the second he sees me
And I forget how long I’ve counted.

I take his hand in mine
He squeezes back
Even tired, we talk and walk
He keeps pace, step for step
“Let’s go home” I say