Tucked snug behind
Proscenium arch a
Baby’s stoned to death:
The watchers sit in trembling furs,
Slumped with relief.
Come, let’s get out before
The peak hour traffic snarls
The bridge. I’ve got cold chicken
In the fridge for supper — at least
I think I have. Those kids will
Gorge themselves. Oh go on,
You can pass! The light’s already
Amber, hurry up! I’m dying for a
Cup of tea. Don’t talk like that
To me, of all people!
Let’s not quarrel, things are
Going so well: Ian’s done his maths
And Nigel’s sure to top his year.
You’ve worked so hard with
Him…what’s that? I
Had to keep her home. You
Know that stomach thing she gets.
She’ll be all right tomorrow.
Well, the wings have had it but
The breast’s still there. Or
Part of it. You must be starving!
Can’t see why we push ourselves to
Plays like that although I feel
The writer has a point to make.
Some cake? Oh damn, I
Gave it to that child next door;
I’m sure her mother doesn’t
Feed her properly. What’s the
Matter? Aren’t you feeling well?
It’ll pass. There’s Dexsal in the
Cupboard and a glass is
Right in front of you.
All right, I’ll come up later —
What a mess they leave the
Place! Did you say she was crying?
Probably a dream. It’s just a phase
She’s going through. I’ll go to her.
You go to bed. I can’t think
What’s the matter with my head.
There, there, the
Way you cry you’d think I was an
Awful sight. Now be a good girl,
Go to sleep. Good night.
© Fay Zwicky