---

When I get home by dark
and he's there
with a solemn hand in hello
I walk to the kitchen
make myself a snack

and I know
that something is amiss
all the silence
tells me that it is
why I call myself
a widow of sorts

he falls asleep in the chair
I smoke by a window
on the landing
tell him I'm going out to see
a film or a friend
for a drink at the inn

I go over all the details, again
part the blind to see
the world still down,
dithering there
told him I'm sorry, again
but he won't hear it

and he heard everything
television, creaks
and the clink of gin
days since pass
in the cloak of a dream
washing dishes and
staring at folks in the street

I take myself into the town
a lowly lizard
looking for somewhere to sun
myself
warm my blood
shed the skin
of all that's done

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