Night Music
Wešve been joined in the house
(my wife, our dog and I)
by a chiming clock.
With a strong gong on the hour
and half hour it makes
its presence punctually known.
In the night, should you have woken,
enjoying the silence, comes soon
a clang from the far end of the house.
Was that one ošclock? Half past something?
Stay awake another half hour
and you know. So the night passes.
Last night as the word insomnia was
just coming to mind, my wifešs soft breathing
turned towards a gentle snore.
Rude music - soon I felt driven
to lash out - a brief arm
movement silenced her.
But she spoke: did you hit me in the ribs?
Oh dear, Išm sorry. I meant
to touch you gently. You were snoring.
Silence fell, modulated by two sets
of heavy breathing. The clock struck seven,
released me from my bed of shame.
Dawn birds sang, kettle whistled,
toaster emitted toast and percussion.
Dear - your ribs - no repercussion?
Max Richards
Melbourne
Wednesday 24 August 2005
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