Slip Alley XVIII

Ollie places two noodle boxes
from his favourite takeaway
on the kitchen bench,
Mongolian beef for Greta
and a Thai green chicken curry for himself;
he unscrews the cap of the sauvignon blanc,
pours two generous glasses,
he hands a glass to Greta,
“chin chin”, he says,
she smiles with quivering ruby lips.

The blue cat plays with Ollie’s pewter pen,
flicks it to the floor,
bleats and stares at Ollie.

Ollie hands Greta chopstcks
and the box with Mongolian beef,
“let’s not stand of ceremony,” he says.

Greta takes the box,
the cat’s jade eyes are fixed on her
as he knocks Ollie’s phone onto the floor.

Ollie picks up the phone,
pats his cat saying,
“thank you Blue, I get your drift,”
while feeding him a piece of chicken.

Greta’s slender fingers
prise open the top of the noodle box,
she sniffs with an nonchalant air,
but the tightness around her lips
speaks of agitation.

Ollie takes a deep breath
smiling at Blue,
he smells adrenaline,
beneath Greta’s sandalwood perfume;
the chopsticks in her right hand
betray an almost imperceptible tremor.

Ollie engages her in small talk
about the best places
for coffee in the city.

For the whole series so far use the tag Slip Alley

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