Reads: 493  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

As I rode up
to Milka's parents' farmhouse
on my bike,
Milka's mother
was by the back door
shaking out a carpet.

I left my bike
against a fence,
and walked towards
the back door,
watching her
standing there
hands gripping the carpet
and shaking determinedly,
as she shook the carpet
her whole body moved,
and I took note
of her motherly breasts
bulging and swaying.

She turned when she
heard me coming
over the stony path.

Hello, Benny,
she said,
you're here early,
Milka's not up yet,
but still come in
and have coffee or tea
and maybe toast.

I smiled and said:
that'll be nice,
and I followed her in
as she carried
the carpet back
indoors again
and took it into
the lounge where
it had come from.

Take a seat,
she said,
I’ll get us a drink
and some toast.

So I sat down
in a chair by the table
in the kitchen,
and she busied herself
getting down mugs
from a cupboard
and putting slices of bread
under the grill.

What are you having?
She asked me
tea or coffee?

Tea please,
I said,
watching her
slightly plumpish body
move before me.

She put tea
into a teapot
and put the kettle
onto the stove.

She turned and said:
what are you
and Milka doing
this fine Saturday?

Going to show her
the place I used
to go fishing,
I said.

Fishing? Milka?
didn't know she
was into fishing?
He mother said smiling.

She's not,
I said,
but the spot is beautiful,
and we could sit
by the pond
and watch the wildlife,
and maybe take
some sandwiches
and drinks of pop
and have a sort of picnic.

O that sounds good,
Milka's mother said.

I said nothing
about anything else
we may get up to
if the weather held
and it stayed dry.

She turned and made
the tea and watched
the bread under the grill.

I watched her
move about
taking in her
motherly breasts
her Rubenesque figure.

Just then
Milka came down
the stairs
and into the kitchen
in her dressing gown
and her hair
in a mess.

You're here early,
she said to me,
make me some toast
and a coffee
please, Mum,
she asked her mother,
and sat down
next to me.

You could at least
have washed
and got dressed
first Milka,
her mother said
looking at her frowning.

Didn't know
Benny was here,
Milka said.

Well he is,
her mother said,
so get yourself decent.

Milka sighed
and raised her
eyes heavenward,
and stomped
off upstairs.

That girl,
Milka's mother said,
just as well
her father's
not here or he'd
give her coming down
to breakfast like that,
just as well he's
up on the farm.

She poured me
a mug of tea
and two slices of toast
and butter,
and sat down
opposite me
and said:
you've a handful
there, Benny,
not an easy one
to motivate
into action.

No I guess not,
I said,
keeping the image
of Milka and me
in her bed
humping away
inside my head.

Submitted: September 06, 2016

© Copyright 2022 dadio. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:

Facebook Comments

Other Content by dadio

Poem / Religion and Spirituality

Poem / Poetry