Nameless

With a knock-knock and a cold wind
The period panelling moved away.
Then the paternal audit.
The other was silent, but
A matriarch’s love needs no words.
A glance blabs volumes.

“How was your journey?”
Fine. Nothing but banal.
Should it have been a grand coup?
Through land and sea and underworld.
Dauntless romping for a certain end;
To offer a prize at his door.

We sat on the suede for single malt
With talk of lavish distractions.
The fire roared off unyielding fuel
And illuminated the crystal.
“Can I smoke?” I could not.
A wishbone sat in the ashtray.

Rich polish and swirling white
In black, exploited the senses.
Scales of romantic beauty,
Descending, marching to torture,
(“Do you play?” He did not.)
In spite of the unplayed grand.

Then my compensation, floating
Down the stairs and we stood
As if to praise a grand centrepiece.
Curtseys and bows and sacrifices
And all the time was frittered
And all the traditions fulfilled.

We walked coldly in the wind.
She no longer belonged to me, but
To empty ashtrays and silent pianos.
When looking straight at her
And her down at me, I knew,
I would return with another, nameless.