Through the Wall

Waking us up in the night
the cat we were drowning,

is a baby under the water,   
and the pair of voices

bubbling through the wall
are frantic divers, cradling,

bringing up the victim,
draining congested lungs.

We step back from the water’s edge,
discreet pillows over our ears,

and, like the coal-tar vaporiser
that is the votive candle

smelling sweet in a tourists’ church,
let the pungency of others’ pain

duly incense the room next-door;
and empathy’s confessional

be a nice old Tardis in the dark,

dematerialising us back to sleep.

.