MAJHONG EVENINGS

We learnt more than how to play majhong
those evenings in their house;
we learnt how hatred ripens, swells
and silently explodes with teeth and nails
hurtling at each other's throats.
They had, at one time loved;
surely they had loved and
there had been tenderness
and smoothing skin and
meeting lips and lovers' sighs?
There had been holding hands
and meeting eyes
and secret glances shared;
surely there had been
secret glances shared?
Had they loved -
or thought they loved -
the thought of love
more than love?
Was each a stranger to the other,
not a friend, but just a lover?
What poison, then, had
poisoned them, and
turned their love to hate?
We saw the hatred in their eyes;
we heard it in their
curt retorts which showered frost
across the room when either of them spoke.
But not to us.
They were pollite to us;
guests in their home, we
were lavished with their care,
each competing for our sympathy,
our friendship,
our support.
Oh yes.
We learnt much more than
how to play majhong,
those evenings in their tidy home.