Oh she is
no one’s,
her belly
is big.
She
puts her hands
to touch, she
has tried to
ignore it, she says
who will help.
It
cannot be stopped
now it’s planted
he shrugs, his hands
face outward,
he says this or that
and goes.
Well go
she says after
and you might.
Other times
what tones he took,
what ways
and she let,
she can’t recall
now there’s this.
Well
goes sometimes
a long time
between breakfast
down along there
she lay down, he also,
under a bush, for
they met walking
by maybe chance
out by the water
and no they weren’t
strangers, sat often
to the same table.
And not for the
last time they
lay so, and he
what was it
he said and what
matter: there’s this
feeding itself
on herself, and him
walking away whose
short legs
pressing her down
whose eyes shut
and the damp grass
chilled her, he
muttered and cried
an animal sound.
And see
where that got me
to herself
she says, as who
would she speak to
with nothing her own,
a thin
working girl,
that sort goes hungry
stopping up draughts,
goes down
with fever, galloping
consumption,
if only the poor
learn manners, and look
her skirt
can’t afford to
she’ll work
till she’s brought
to bed she yells
after him, slow
distant figure
crossing the street
to his house, go
and you might,
looking for brats,
here’s brats,
go speak
with your wife
old man
old man
old man.