Letter

[tectak]

The door was open each morning when it should have been closed.
You knew how sensitive Stan was.
A simple draft and he'd shake like a slaughterhouse pig. fears of dying for his country or a chill wind?
I wonder if he knew? Nobody has walls, darling.I can wait to find out who Stan is, but in the meantime I felt a disconnect between the two brief sentences in this line. The unknowns are beginning to fall like tetris bricks.
We think we put them up but we don't.
You'd have your back to me when I'd come in,
pretending to clean plates or darn Lily's socks.
(Who darns socks after breakfast?
I'm genuinely curious.)
I like this in its entirety....but also in its isolation; and it is isolated.The Lilly brick falls and I have no wall.
At first I think it was the minute popping of buttons which aroused you.
I had the finest blouse on our street.
Ted was so proud when we went to the pub,
and I ordered a gin while every girl scowled.
Among all the whispers of "how does she dare?"
"with everyone scrimping she shows up in that?"
"Ted must have robbed the post office,"
you looked and sipped your wine,
quietly held by some mystery. OK. This is going where it is most comfortable...it is a story. Better not pretend it is poetry.

Of course, each time, after I'd sat where Stan had just sat,
you put down a sock or a plate, and turned around,
accessed by that small popping. The silence itself had a charm.
I smoked a cigarette and studied the paneling
like a bored prostitute. I think that was part of the original thrill. Yes. Good observed behavior. Not sure about the word use. "accessed" is probably just plain wrong. "Distracted" or "attracted" or "intrigued" or "interested". One "l" in paneling if US. Otherwise double "l"
You looked like you'd never seen breasts other than your own before.

Now Stan is dead and the door remains closed.
You gave him the marriage he wanted. Applied lipstick daily,
made meals, accompanied him to the pub now and then,
bore Lily and Daniel, darned Lily's socks, cleaned plates,
and mopped his brow each night near the end.
Now is the time to give me a key.

I guess I have but one problem with this. It neither needs, requires, benefits from or is in any way acceptable as a poem. That's fine if that's fine but not if it's not. Your call.
Best,
Tectak