A Markov Chain
Your single dice is rolled and fixes
the next move of your red counter –
and then things – like probability –
also occur by your releases –
all observed by him – Markov –
who winks at you and your tits –
We are grey with tiredness –
our dog will sleep until our gate
is pushed to allow steps on gravel
and your return from Markov’s place
with your trolley bag of dirty linen
labouring behind you – suited to city life –
There – stand and stare at bare flowerbeds
and desire for small hints of weeds
to not return to this squared garden –
Let us no longer play games of chance –
Markov has your breasts cupped
and will now roll you across his bed