Whenever I go over to her place
in his Y-fronts
and there’s this mark
on his arm and the freckles
that look good on a man,
a just-right shade of tan too,
When she and I link by the window,
in front of the TV, on the sofa,
there he is, smiling white
at her, at me.
I wonder if one day
I’ll go around and he’ll have gone,
when she rolls his canvas
and throws him away.
Stephen Seabridge is a poet and Creative Writing PhD student living in Staffordshire, UK. Most of his poetry has been published on the side of his Mum and Dad’s fridge, but he does have the odd breakthrough.