Don’t Tell
Once, in the confinement, word went round
of a gathering, that night, in the ruined
Auberge du Roi. Twenty minutes,
the woodland way, a half moon
in two minds, but what the heck?
And then, spilling from unglazed openings,
the thudthud of a live band, mingled
with all the honeysuckle scent
of that long winter’s missing laughter.
Outstretched candle-glow. Come in,
friend or stranger, raise a beer,
revive your hunger to unmask a smile.
Feel the flame, forget the curfew.
I was not party to this.
It’s as you whispered in my ear
when you rolled home,
stinking of weed.
Sue Kindon lives and writes in the French Pyrenees. She was Runner Up in the 2021 Ginkgo Prize (for Eco-poetry); her latest pamphlet is Outside, the Box (4Word Press, 2019). She sometimes writes in French.