She watches across the room

As he rises, stealthily, silently

From his chair, and heads towards

The  Woman.

She sits, head bowed, pen still

Engrossed, absorbed in the work before her.

She watches across the room

As he stoops in passing

And takes The Woman`s gloves

From her bag.

White lacy feminine gloves.

Frivolous gloves.

Joyful gloves.

Gloves bought to match

The wicked red shoes

On her tiny slender feet,

Curled under the table.

She watches across the room

As he leaves and heads towards

The lavatory.

The tiny white scraps of lace

Clutched tightly in his hot sticky fingers.

She hears outside the door

His grunts and groans of

Animal satisfaction.

She watches across the room

As he replaces the gloves

Sodden. Soaked. Despoiled

Into The Womans bag.

 

Shadowlike she flits

 Between the tables

Retrieving the ruined gloves

She tiptoes into a quiet corner

Squeezing out the contents,

Tenderly she washes

And dabs them dry

Returning them pristine and white

To the bag.

Oblivious, The Woman raises her head

And smiles.

Then gathering her belongings

She stands, and leaves.

Her red heels tap tapping

Down the street.

Across the room she watches

As he leers lecherously after her.

Purposefully she heads towards him.

Hips swaying across the floor

Eyes bright with anticipation.

She places the cup carefully

Before him.

"Your coffee sir," she says,

Smiling gently.