Time Of The Season by Steven Storrie

We can’t do this
She said
Of course we can
I said
We’re doing it right now
She put her hot mouth on me
Spilling her cocktail as she moved
Crawled
Knelt
Under the Merry Christmas lights
We’d bought just last year

I watched her ass wiggle as she worked
Black panties still around her ankles
Fingers doing the work I couldn’t reach

Her groans mixed with a children’s choir
Coming from across the street
And I came to the sound of something
Eerily similar
to Jingle Bells

That would be the final time
I signed the divorce papers the next morning
by the window
and wished to God it would stop snowing
that we would get some relief from it all
for a little while
at least

Steven Storrie has worked as a cable T.V repair man, dishwasher, choreographer, ice cream vendor and junk yard attendant. Tired of this he is currently locked in his basement working on his first full collection of poetry, bickering with his neighbours over nothing and storing the baseballs he keeps when they are hit into his yard. His first collection of short stories, We Are Not The Kids We Used To Be, will be released in November by DevilHouse Press. You can find him at the website he runs, ‘Black Coffee For Breakfast’, at http://renegadepriest11.wix.com/blackcoffeebreakfast