They've been to the pictures in Pontypridd

Yul Brynner, they're not sure which film

they can't concentrate what with the

scent and lust in suspension.

 

Commercial traveller takes time out

over in the valleys.              Her home

quite forlorn on the steep industrial street.

All this is in his mind

as they ascend the stair

the revelatory behind

close enough for violation.

 

The simple lonely room comes to life

there is flesh, a clashing of teeth

yield and surge

shoes kicked away

and the rain is sparkling in Pontypridd.

 

His briefcase secure with its way of life

on the cutwork runner

he breathes the long gusts of

wallpapered and mahogany sin

as she flushes and sighs,

valley talk.

Already he is sullied

 

the old urges sated

the dull ache of guilt overriding.

She smiles

knowing nothing of this.

 

Factories await, samples to be shown

jokes shared, hands shaken

and, like the sealing of fate

he pulls the door to

while she makes the bed.