Stiff and still.
Members and fingers missing.
Uncomplete, he asks for his own death.
Tonight, he won’t come home.
A day spent in pyjamas, she runs our the front door.
She doesn’t turn the lock or switch off the lights.
It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters right now.
They carry his flaccid body to the emergency.
Later, she’ll dine alone. Not hungry,
food is too hard to chew.
This will be a very short night, sitting in a damp waiting room –
In the morning her neck will be sore
and his heart willl have stopped.
LOUISE DAUTHERIBES McKERL 