Catching My Parents at It
Seven years old, I wake from a nightmare
and creep toward Mum and Dad’s door,
where a kind of sound emanates, loud,
the kind I have never heard before.
I pause; it sounds somewhere between
pure pain and its opposite, ecstasy,
what a strange thing! What could it mean?
I open the door suddenly, and see
bright naked flesh, glowing, moving, more
of that sound, now a metre from my face.
My own mother and father – the image
hazy now, and embarrassed, recoils,
though for sure they were happy, how I envy
their married bliss, now forty and single.