Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

Terry TrainorStarred Page By Terry Trainor, 7th May 2013 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Poetry

A man come home early from work and finds his wife in bed with his friend. He packs his bags and leaves on the night train. He returns some years later.

Home Early

Walking in through my back door the house was quiet, nobody around so I went in to my front room I’d left work early.
Sitting on my usual seat my head lay on the back of my chair feeling ill so a rest would do me the world of good.
My eyes were heavy and they began to close drifting into a light sleep my world disappeared just for a short while.
Then woke with a start there was movement upstairs, there were voices so I got up and slowly began to climb the stairs.

The Crack in the Door

The noise came from my bedroom, there was a mans voice, so creeping across the landing I looked in the crack of the door.
My heart froze, my world ruined, staring in disbelief my wife lay in our bed naked with another man, my friend, what’s going on.
So bursting into the bedroom they both sat up and looked in amazement then they looked for words, looked for something to say.
In my anger I dragged my ‘friend’ out of my bed punching and kicking him he lay on the floor he was silent he had no more to say.

Packing my Bag

I stared at my wife said nothing my anger boiled my head raged she began to try to make some stupid excuses she though I was a fool.
Packing my holdall stuffing clothes into my bag not bothering to fold them I tipped up her dressing table and trashed the room.
Grabbing important things putting on my reefer jacket stuffing my wallet bank book my savings from a shoe box in my inside pocket.
And stormed out of the back door again stopping to catch my breath, stopping to catch my thoughts, panicking what will I do now.

At the Bus Stop.

It was a cold November evening thick fog darkened the already darkness, Walking down an uneven pavement in misty neon lights.
I stood at the nearest bus stop waiting, it was 1960 we had only been married for two years I should have known, noticed the signs.
From the deep dark fog a red double decker crawled to the stop I jumped on and made my way to the smokers deck upstairs and sat down.
Rolling a cigarette the conductor made his way along the polished wooden gangway shouting ‘tickets please’ I bought one to the station.

The Train

I bought a ticket to Ireland on the sleeper train, on Euston platform guard a whistled, smoke and steam mixed in with dark and thick fog.
Laying on my bunk the train jerked, its wet wheels slid on the wet rails and it jerked again, this getting traction it rocked as it left the station.
Thinking of things that might have been the train careered through North London and into the thirties suburbs and stopped again at Watford.
Passengers boarded the night train and made their way to their small sleeping rooms and the train pulled away again into the thick fog.

On the Boat

We got off the train in Anglesey then onto the boat, leaning on an outside rail I watched the boat churn up the calm sea into white spray.
Standing on the deck on a cold November morning I watched the darkness turn to murky grey this is a time I will never forget.
After many hours it arrived at Belfast so from there I got onto a train to Dublin another long journey across green fields and small towns.
At Dublin I asked the guard where is the most remote spot in Southern Ireland so I bought another ticket to my new life.

My Rented Cottage

I rented an old cottage for a silly low rent next to a church that rang its bells nearly every evening, the bells were soothing.
A heavy peel with the bang of the clapper as the ringers pulled on thick ropes and played in time always on time.
An old church probably with a lot of history there may be some long lasting visions behind those thick ancient walls,
My golden dreams have vanished and I try to clutch at ghosts from my past but they disappear with thoughts of treachery.

My Orchard

I use some of my money to buy a piece of land and plant apple trees and plum trees there is no other work in this remote place.
They grow and ripen into beautiful fruit there is so much fruit I have to buy an old second hand lorry to take them to market.
The market’s in Cork and it’s a long bumpy drive down bumpy forgotten lanes, the lorry rattles on I think my teeth will fall out.
But I get good prices at the market every trip means a stop at the bank and my savings grow and they call me Mr. a mark of respect.


Standing in my quiet backwater my world still thunders with turmoil and storm, revenge grows in my heart it’s not sweet like my fruit.
Some rainy days my gaze glances towards the sky when it is as black as thunder, full of rage, an anvil sky full of anger and so am I.
When heavy rain falls a flagged path nearby turns into a stream, rushing water eases my anger like it is being swept away, cleansing.
Lightning sometimes strikes the mountains nearby I just watch the burnt patches appear like my burned patches in my mind.

Buying New Land

I buy a huge stretch of land and plant corn and wheat they grow high they are good crops and they sway with the wind.
Local workers help me harvest my fields the rich soil makes things grow, the husks are separated in my new barn near my new house.
My daily walks are along the rutted fields inspecting progress anticipating the quantities and the quality of the grain.
New lorries take them to the markets not only Cork but to markets in Europe and England, I am a man of means a man of respect.

A Whole New Life

My world has turned and I no longer work in the orchards or fields my many workers tend the land look after my fields of cows.
Life is now good and I married a rich farmers daughter we have two fine children that are happy, loved and want for nothing.
My wife is a beautiful she is a fit young woman used to working a farm and the odd hours farm work sometimes demands.
Our cup runs over with love for each other, love for our beautiful children, for our beautiful house and our fertile lands.

My Office

Sitting in my leather chair in an office in my home, leather bound books surround my heavy mahogany early Victorian desk.
Thinking of a past life how tragic events led to me into a life of happiness and utter contentment, a life I could never have dreamt of.
A fit man, still a young man, my thoughts return to that foggy cold November day when my world crashed around me, now long past.
My anger rises again this event needs closure, I have lived with hate for long it’s something that must be dealt with.


So I take my family to London to show my wife and children the museums the shows and to shop at the finest shops in Oxford Street.
I hire a great big black car to drive around in and we stay at a fine hotel, men with suits and top hats open doors for us.
My wife knows of my past life and that I need to go back to my old house, my old life just to understand the value of my life now.
She smiles a knowing smile she knows me too well, so we all dress up in our finest clothes and drive back to my past life.
We pull up by a run down two up two down terrace and I go alone up an overgrown weed garden and knock on the door.
A fat lady that used to be my wife opened the door and stared at me with eyes that have lost the power of hope and lost beauty.
She realises who I am and she smiles a greedy smile and invites me in, a fat slob that used to be my friend lays on the sofa reading comics.
He is startled to see me and invites me to sit down on a chair that I bought many years ago on hire purchase and asks how I am these days.
So I tell him, I tell them both and thank them for being the spark that ignited my life of happiness and good fortune and my family.
‘To say thank you I will write you a cheque for twenty thousand pounds to thank you for your utter disrespect your deceit your faithlessness.
Opening my cheque book I write out the cheque and reach over the stained coffee table to hand it over, there is greedy excitement in their eyes.
Then I pull back my hand and rip the cheque into tiny little pieces and laugh loud in their astounded faces, they plead for me to change my mind.

But I do not and I never will. Revenge is a dish best served cold.

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Contentment, Corn, Fields, Friend, Fruit, Happiness, Infidelity, Orchards, Revenge, Wife

Meet the author

author avatar Terry Trainor
I am a Poet.
My passion is to write about nature and the history of nature.

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author avatar Terry Trainor
7th May 2013 (#)

Thank you Mark

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author avatar Stella Mitchell
7th May 2013 (#)

Oh Terry . I was just about to commend you for your change of heart , but I should have known better ... my friend . !!
God bless you .
Stella ><

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author avatar Terry Trainor
8th May 2013 (#)

Hi Stella, an 'eye for an eye' thanks for reading

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author avatar Stella Mitchell
8th May 2013 (#)

...but, your man could have ended up as the slob on the couch reading comics. I would have shook his hands and said ' Thank you very much mate, you did me the biggest favour ever ! Just a thought .
Bless you
Stella :-) ><

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author avatar Delicia Powers
7th May 2013 (#)

Bitter-sweet so real in feel- just amazing writing as always Terry...

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author avatar Terry Trainor
8th May 2013 (#)

Thank you Delicia.

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author avatar Bets
7th May 2013 (#)

Hi Terry, Oh I guess I knew the outcome from the sub-titles I first read. I see paragraphs with broken lines. Terry, you got your thoughs & throughs mixed and mispelled. EX;
she though I was a fool. (thought) winks.
I like punctuation to clarify just what the writer is thinking out loud. May I be a good and honest critiquer, (though you may do the same after reading anything I've written. Very nice story and I'm tempted asking, "is it for real?" haha.
Enjoyed the pictures with the stories. They were all right to the point, (I might add.)
Nice work!
Smiles, Bets :)

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author avatar Terry Trainor
8th May 2013 (#)

No it's not real. My spelling seems to get left behind sometimes. Thanks for the read.

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author avatar Mariah
7th May 2013 (#)

Nice one Terry
Sad beginning, great ending
compelling read so very well written

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author avatar Terry Trainor
8th May 2013 (#)

Thanks Mariah.

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author avatar Sivaramakrishnan A
11th May 2013 (#)

What a tale gripping from beginning to end. Sometimes a we need a shock treatment to spur us on to achieve. Thanks for another splendid ride, Terry - siva

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author avatar Terry Trainor
13th May 2013 (#)

Thanks my dear friend.

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