Complaint

 They call me and I go.

It is a frozen road
past midnight, a dust
of snow caught
in the rigid wheeltracks.

The door opens.

I smile, enter and
shake off the cold.

Here is a great woman
on her side in the bed.

She is sick,
perhaps vomiting,
perhaps laboring
to give birth to 
a tenth child.
 Joy! Joy!
Night is a room
darkened for lovers,
through the jalousies the sun
has sent one golden needle!
I pick the hair from her eyes
and watch her misery
with compassion.

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