When my German lover
answers I say hello it’s me; he’s
surprised to hear my voice
excited by this show of devotion,
that I have called him from such a god-forsaken
remote place; we talk; he
whispers dirty words, waits for
a response but I am self-conscious
standing on the hot sandy street,
peddlers and tourists walking past.
I say I can’t, no privacy; he is
disappointed I won’t arouse him
but it takes more than one missed
opportunity to upset him; he tries
to tell me about his day in
Hamburg but I am impatient with
small talk, have to go, I say
talk to you when I get home
I adore you I say.
He cheers up, says he
loves me too; only
next year when my husband finds out
about us will he be sad.
I adore you I say again
and hang up the phone.