MONDAY MORNING SALES 1972.

Abela stood talking

with the middle-aged couple
who were interested
in the watercolour
of a Sussex scene
upstairs in the shop.

Benny was downstairs

trying to sell the Van Gogh print
to the young woman
with the thin-wired glasses
and cute body.

The way he looked at her.

Undressing her with his eyes
if I know him.

Like he undressed me last night.

One piece of clothing at a time.

Yes, the Sussex Downs,

she said to the man.
The couple gazed
at the watercolour;
him taking it
and turning it
in different directions.

How Benny had opened me up

like a morning flower.
His kiss any place
he could reach.

We'll take it,

the man said.

She carried the painting

down the stairs,
the couple following behind.

Benny was all smiles.

The girl had gone
and so had the Van Gogh print.
She wrapped up the watercolour;
the man wrote out a cheque.

After they left Abela said:

you sold it then,
the Van Gogh.
Get her phone number?

He smiled.
No, she's not my type,
he said.

And what's your type?

She said.

You are,
he said.

She put the cheque in the till

and shut the drawer.

They walked to the back

and made coffee
and waited
for the next customer
to come in.

He mused on
the young woman's figure.

She on the coming

night's sin.