The sofa

I climbed up a very tall thin ladder into scaffolding

and onto the roof today.

Ostensibly I was there to approve the repairs

with my builders,

but actually I was there

so that I could say I had been there;

that I was still nimble enough to climb a ladder;

steady enough not to fall;

brave enough.

And did I enjoy the view?

No. 

I chatted nonchalantly about 

the flashing,

the felting, 

the leading, 

the slipped slates;

all the while

 concentrating hard on not looking at the view.

I was girding myself for the climb down.

So much harder to manage

without the giddy impulse 

that had driven me up there;

the momentary, foolish desire not to be seen as a sofa...

'He looked at her amiably, as though she were a nice sofa.

That must be the penalty of the grey hairs,

the tired shadows under the eyes,

that must be the beginning of getting old.

She had noticed it.

Young men looked at you as though you were a nice sofa,

an article of furniture which they would

never be desirous of acquiring.

The signal flags were hauled down,

the lights went out,

all commerce between the sexes to cease forthwith.'

One FIne Day by Mollie Panter-Downes