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Poem	The children are back, the children are back— They’ve come to take refuge, exhale and unpack; The marriage has faltered, the job has gone bad, Come open the door for them, Mother and Dad. The city apartment is leaky and cold, The landlord lascivious, greedy and old— The mattress is lumpy, the oven’s encrusted, The freezer, the fan, and the toilet have rusted. The company caved, the boss went broke, The job and the love-affair, all up in smoke. The anguish of loneliness comes as a shock— O heart in the doldrums, O heart in hock. And so they return with their piles of possessions, Their terrified cats and their mournful expressions Reclaiming the bedrooms they had in their teens, Clean towels, warm comforter, glass figurines. Downstairs in the kitchen the father and mother Don’t say a word, but they look at each other As down the hill comes Jill, comes Jack. The children are back. The children are back.
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