for us

we think

in twenty years time,

sad and balding,

will i love you and hold you?

maybe we'll divorce at thirty-two.

maybe we'll argue,

who gets the dog

will it be me or you?

but i don't like dogs, so it's just as likely

i'll take the cat

and the silver food dish

and leave you.

 

maybe one cold christmas,

i'll lace our little girl's shoes

and fit her mittens onto her tiny hands,

and she'll look at me with your eyes.

maybe then i'll understand.

maybe,

it won't come to bear.

and the cat will be locked in the kitchen,

as we undress before the hearth fire

and i'll get pine needles in my hair.

 

but

for now

hold him close, close, nuzzle

at his cheekbones

because for once

he's more cold.

 

he takes the fear.