How after 4 years, together,
we see two indentations,
on a mattress, the beauty sleeps,
that become discolored impressions,
You see, as a measure of time.
I can’t help smile,
seeing my wife, keeps her legs hoisted
in the air, to allow for the tadpoles
to swim through by gravity, while
a Sunday Times newspaper
lies beneath her, on the bed.
Silly me, to think, that for
two people who are ambivalent,
about children, we possess the right
to create one. We laugh afterwards,
looking at the wet newspapers,
the humble pie, that is served,
to clean up, and perhaps
even replace, a wet sheet.
The same newspapers, we will, one day,
fold, to make paper boats or floating jets.
The conquistadors and the aviators,
paper hoists, inside a child’s heart.
While, before throwing away the newspaper,
I look at a little stain, rich in life,
directly on a newspaper article, that to
my delight, – and anguish – reads,
Quadruplets born at
Lady Ridgeway Hospital.