He doesn’t meet my eye.
She says, “He’s shy.”
He stays aloof from talk;
“He needs to work.”

Her face is sore;
“I walked into the door.”
She wears long sleeves.
She never did before.

*

I visit them at work.
He’s dull and curt.
“Is that your bloody mother?”
“It’s OK, Mum; don’t bother.”

“Where did you go today?
Did you shop alone?
Who’ve you been talking to?
Who’s on the phone?”

*

She says, “I’m pregnant, Mum.”
“You’d best come home.”
She says she can’t;
“He hates to sleep alone.”

She’s heavy, milky-mild.
“He wants this child.
Though early on he said
he wished it dead.”

*

In hospital she fears
his angry arm;
under her pillow hides
the panic alarm.

He punches the wall.
“Scared, that’s all.
Illness makes him upset;
he sees a threat.”

*

Penned with his parents
in their crowded home,
she with the infant
loves it alone.