Lying abed
At Mum’s
In the recent past,
With rain rattling
The old windows
And another innocent killed
By British daleks
On the television below
Joyce was camped
Downstairs by now
In what was the living room
Even with the News
I could still hear John and Harriet
Gee, from next door fucking
Working themselves to a finish
Against a loose headboard
With an accelerating
Sequence of irregular wooden knocks
Whatever was the rush?
It was raining
There was nowhere else to go
.
Steven Taylor
.