Under The Spell

So considerate!
He hangs my blue towel
on the correct nail.

We only tango
facing the wall,
our heads snapping about 
as we turn. 

I don’t like your sister watching us,
he says.
And your piano
is in need of tuning.

What I would not give
for a long drive with him
in an MG,

a red MG,
revving up, rolling out
over the long miles of country,

laughing at the signs:
no vacancy,
no vagrancy,

I’d go anywhere with him
though forensics are imminent
and may show soft crumbs of others 

on his knife.