She must be 50 something yet still very pretty with golden hair and sharp features and she owned the stage as she performed her poem with passion. She pointed to her husband in the audience as she explained the next one was about him and her. And she read a beautiful tender piece that evoked vivid images of the two of them dancing together to tranquil music, alone in their living room.

I thought he was being the faithful supportive husband, being there to encourage her in her poetic endeavour. But no. He went up to the stage later to perform his piece too, for he too wrote. Taller with faded hair, he still had presence like her and commanded the stage like her as he explained his poem was about her.

Then he read it, words about her in a blue dress in a restaurant meandering through the menu but to him it didn’t matter what she ordered because… she was the dish. The audience laughed at his cheekiness and she admonished him affectionately.

That’s when I decided I wanted to be like them, I want to marry a writer, someone who even after decades of marriage later we’re writing poems about each other, performing them at open mic poetry events together, hers sweet and his teasing, making her laugh yet blush even after all these years.

***

There was a range of talent at the open mic poetry event in Ilford library that evening two weeks ago, but the couple impressed me the most.