Tonight's Poet Corner: Poor Eckle's Mistress

Poor Eckle's Mistress
by Belinda Roddie

One drink after another, glasses of cherry
and raspberry ale, overtly sweet
to mask the tartness of the atmosphere,
Master Eckle thought he saw
his mistress's hand slide

slightly, but deliberately, a shiver of
flesh rippling across colder flesh, down
the shoulder of his friend Stein's wife,
her lips stained purple from her
tall glass of wine. He

was tempted to yank the tablecloth
away from where it caressed his clumsy
hips, to see if his lady had removed
a slipper so she could curl a toe
or two across the other dame's ankle.
Instead, he bit his tongue,

and, when he saw the women
smiling and laughing with noses
nearly touching, he raised a glass
and toasted to an innocent,
growing orchard of friendship.