Tuesday, 01 September 2009

   

 

THE SON 

Lying awake, in the room
Over their room, the voices
Drifting up through the floorboards -
A grinding, night-long quarrel
Between the two who made you.
How can you bear to listen? 

A shared life, a shared hatred
To warm it in the small hours.
Four living children, one dead.
Five proofs of something, one you
Who lie there above them. Grey
Coals hiss as the fire burns low.

 

This site was last updated 01-09-2009