Sunday afternoon

In light of my afternoon loveliness I give you a poem that I like.

Better Than Sex
Keddy Ann Outlaw

The nurse-teacher-artist
drives home at noon.
She takes off
her stockings
and lies on the sofa
in a meditative nirvana
her mother called a nap.

If you asked her just then
she would tell you
such silence
is better
than sex.

Better than
the better-than-sex cake
someone always makes
for holiday parties,
the one with whipped cream,
pudding, cherries, sponge cake
and gooey chocolate.

Afterwards, she
wonders - can anyone
identify the pillow crease
on her face, that scar
of a lunchtime assignation
with loose and lovely self.

I'm not saying mine was good enough for poetry but it certainly was a pleasant treat.