Every evening
I am met at the gate by my wife
her hair in disorder and her dress in a mess
from the kitchen
and the girls hang on the leaves of the gate
while my ancient car rolls in.
One carries my bag, the other
my lunch basket.
The day’s work is over and I am home.
I have forgotten them all day and now
suddenly remember that I must
disappoint them again
for my evening is planned
for a meaningless excursion to the bars.
And the coffee which my wife has served
is cold in my mouth
and the tales the children have brought from school
are dull on my ears.
In spite of my love for them
I must disappoint them again tonight
English