Witching Hour

He wakes every night sometime before four
With the the kids grown and left, and she quietly snores
Just inches away on the bed that they share
That they bought when they wed, when he still had his hair
When she still had the smiles, when he still had the time
When their children were young and they kept them in line
He studies her form and remembers the days
When he’d have woken her there on the bed where she lay
And taken her quickly, and they’d smoke through the dawn
(Which all came to an end when their first child was born)
The thought passes swift as his bladder chimes in
“I regret to announce but it’s piss time again,”
Then, the back of his brain: “Have you put out the bin?”

She wakes every night sometime after three
And pretends to be sleeping so that he can’t see.


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