Three
(This is a work of poetry. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.)
By Baasir Idrak
We were three
My rich wife, her new artiste friend and her gigolo husband – namely me
none were as happy as we
as we walked beside the Mediterranean Sea.
Passion grew
as passion has a will and want to do
long before the Autumn was through
they walked beside lavender fields as two.
July’s done
it fell beneath the knife of August sun
and out here where the lonely cuckolds run
I walk beside the olive trees as one.
We were three
my rich wife, her new love and me
and none were as happy as we
until I lost to a better gigolo than me
