Modern Plums I

By this she knew he rummaged in the fridge:
That, at her foot’s light step upon the tile,
The light that glowed within was in denial
At once behind the closing door abridged,
The plums he sought already taken out,
Which she was saving for breakfast. She lay
Stone-still; he sucked the fruit, as if to say
That they were sweeter being had without
Permission. Then he threw away the stone,
Got paper, and began to pen a note
While she looked on, not caring what he wrote,
Allowing him to work as if alone,
Resenting his enactment of the fall.
He labors at his text with greatest care,
Imagining its reader’s hateful stare,
And wishing for a glance forgiving all.