At the Window

She stood at the window glaring down
at the crowds and traffic, as if they
were responsible for all the troubles
between them, and the world.

The weather was cloudy, breakfast spoiled
argued through. She felt listless
gloomy--all the morning's dismal
radio wake-up news.

He sat on the bed in his underwear.
The wallpaper was floral.
Please come back to bed,
he said, it's cold.

I'm sorry, she said at length
I was wrong, we mustn't let
political feelings come
between us.

He went to the window where he kissed her.
Political feelings shouldn't come into it,
he said, holding his hands lightly on her
breasts. Yes, she said, yes, love is

love, running her hands gently round his backside.
Someone from the outside will see us, he said.
They waved at the traffic and the pedestrians.
Nobody waved back.