The Affair

A lady stands in front of the window,

like she always does
and looks out at the street.


He is there,

quietly standing
under the streetlight.

A cliché.


She never wanted this to happen,
she didn't want to be trapped
inside the appartment,
trapped inside of her


love.


He breathes the cold, moist air
and lights a cigarette.

The tobacco leaves catches fire
slowly.

He
coughs.


She raises the glass and
drinks.

Bourbon burns her throat
but she doesn't care.

It's too early to complain
and too late to stop.

She watches him
smoking.


He looks up,

at the window.
A lady.

A lady so fine,
so delicate.

It's ages from his
last time.

Slowly he sucks the smoke in
and keeps his eyes up
at the lady.


She raises her hand
and takes a little cigar
from the purse
by the table

in front of the window.

She lights it
and blows a
thick smoke cloud.

As the smoke clears
she sights and opens

the window.


He throws the cigarette away
and crosses the street.

He takes the keys
she gave him
and opens the door.

She unlocks the
door leading to the appartment

sits down

at
the
lounge

and drinks.

I Was Only 16

It was in the cover of True Crime.
I was only 16 years old.

They walked slowly in the street
as I was heading towards home.

I was only 16 years old.

Quietly they appeared behind her,
like shadows they dragged her in the
alleyway.

I froze and I couldn't move.

Screams, cries of help.

I was only 16.

I started to run.

I ran as fast as I could.

"POLICE! POLICE!"
I screamed from
the top of my lungs.
"POLICE! POLICE!"

I can't remember how long I ran.
I saw a tall man with a uniform.

"What's wrong son?"
can't remember his face.

"A murder, or a rape!
16th street!"

And the running started again.
To the vehicle,
it felt like forever
to start the engine.

I was only 16 years old.
She was only 18.

"Oh dear God!"
the investigation went on
years.

It was in the cover of True Crime.
And I..
I was only 16.