The warm smiles
Searching for eye contact
To celebrate their little
bundle of joy, enveloped
in a baby blue blanket
Admiring his little face
as he dozes off again

The “Love you, Mom”s
just before he sleeps
Preparing himself for the Monday
he dreads
Their faces are all
ugly gnarls, like daggers towards him
and so he weeps
The couple comes in to
reassure their child, he’s eleven
yet still their baby

The night after
his first day at work
He’s exhausted and
forgets to pull up the sheets
When she comes in, she
grimaces, pulling them up
for him
He’s unconscious
Yet no longer cold

The day
As his wife slams the door
“You’re too much,” she says
He telephones
the couple he has known
since he was born
The consoling, the relatable anger
The only source of support he has

And when
They are gone
He grieves, endlessly
painfully
tossing and turning about in
his bed, the one that feels
ever so familiar
He is unaware
As he drifts off to sleep, finally
They come in again
Shutting the windows
Closing them to block out the
cold air, the chirping of crickets and
the drunken men, with their indecipherable murmurs
for him

again