The third ...

The Third

is like an elf,

cute and coiled

with a snail face

and a needle nose,

always existing in marriage.

A child or adultery,

tea cup and cigarette,

television or silence,

there is always a third 

with its shadow looming tall on a wall

that does not depart with the Sun;

Also, those worry lines on your forehead

that has nothing to do with age.

It’s a snail, withdrawing the tip of its head

into the stone shell

at times, poking its head out

winking,

moving inside its hard robust covering

even when not seen. The third is

a rotten fish smell that reaches you much before

you go to the market place.

You, her, I and the third – we all eat and thrive on betrayal.