After A Dream 1978.

I don't know 

how many cigarettes 

you smoked in a morning 

but each time I saw you 

there was a cigarette 

between your lips. 

I heard you 

from upstairs in bed

the vacuum cleaner 

going on from room to room

the radio in the background 

pushing out music 

or chatter of small talk. 

In the night 

I had dreamed 

of being made love to 

by the young woman next door 

not on her bed 

but her sitting room floor. 

Dreams don't make us guilty 

of the event 

and I didn't have 

any conscious desire 

to make love to her anywhere. 

I got up 

and washed 

and dressed. 

The vacuum cleaner 

had stopped 

but the radio still played 

some music into kitchen 

where you sat 

sipping tea 

and smoking a cigarette. 

I sat and sipped the tea 

you had poured for me 

and nibbled the toast 

you had prepared. 

You spoke about 

the woman next door 

who you saw 

hanging out washing 

on her washing line. 

Your sightseeing 

was not as good as mine.