Off-Peak Season.
Four years under a cloud
Strangely quiet nowadays
Dimly lit, crammed together
Small and vigorous, all white and
 wanting somebody
warm and starting now
She saw nothing
lay there listening, eyes equally blank,
him and her, couldn’t forgive him,
a fetus moulded inside, went on through
winter, hot as steel, breathing with
dreams, his head to have her, the radio at
night, threads of lace,
quivering of life,
click of the chain,
click of the chain,
click of the chain,
click of the chain
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