Half-familiar, curling like cartoon vapour

Through the window- open in vain hope

Of breath in the gasping room- come voices

Four? Maybe six? Un-bodied, imbued with spirit…

Or spirits perhaps…that pluck at her restless ear

Curled towards the street’s night sound

As her not long wed, resistant body,

Unclothed for the heat only, curls away

From the sweaty dip of mattress intent

On tipping her towards the maddening mound

Of hard-working, helpful, hapless husband

Whose disappointed desire and

desire to please stirs spite

And furious sleeplessness on a sticky night.


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