Vol 1 No 1 2007
Care
He coughed and choked on the bucking
boards of his bed. She
ran in to pound his back,
not stopping to cover his nakedness or hers.
He saw all she
did, called her
a metaphor for desire and did she think
there was a book
in it? He swore to
write it even on his death bed, if she had to
roll him twice to change
the sheets beneath him.
She could do it with one arm. Too thin,
he’d dog her to the end
of her days. She shook
the scatter rug out the attic window,
rousted three owls
from their eave roosts.
Night coming on in giant strides. Athena,
lend me your metal
bird, your armour
and shield, your way with the ways of men.
Tanis MacDonald