Don't wait up (soup for tea)

He's greasy on the settee
picking dead skin from
his stubby toes,
tries to turn his neck by
leaning backwards and rolling.

"How long does it take?
the match is about to start".

She hears him but keeps scouring the surface,
works hard to stay in the gym
and fills every room that he's not in.
Regrets are resolved in a full-length mirror,
smoothed out, over her hips.

He hollers into the kitchen
"I said how long is it gonna be"?

Not as quick as you were this morning
she mutters under her breath.
A microwaved piece of chicken
explodes the surface of his soup,
splattering above the sealed door.

She serves it up with bread and butter.
"I'm going out with Jean,
don't wait up".
She knows he loathes Jean, because of what
was burnt at her brother's barbecue.

They sit in a quiet corner of a country pub
nervously sharing a menu.
Jean smiles as she takes ice from her Gin & Tonic
and slides a warm hand under the table.