Seven Poems

Here is the punishment, the condign shame,
The frightened child unravelling through the years;
Here is Rejection, and the parlour game
Whose rules say Everything must end in Tears.

Breakfast is brusque and when it's done
Her life without him's rebegun;
She's typing, on the phone, her looks
Say 'I'm preoccupied, these books -
And so much else - need seeing to,
I haven't time to glance at you'.
And all the time what fills his head
Is how she turns to him in bed.

Insomnia: I get up, read, then write,
...