We are woken by the screams.
We run in two’s. Bare feet pounding
Over floor boards.
Pictures flashing
In our minds,
Of all the worsts.
We kick aside the remnants of last night
Crumpled towels and toy cars
Littered at our feet
Hands scrambling
like snakes, for the lights.
The smell hits us first
And we feel our breakfast, lunch, and dinner
Reappearing together.
But it’s got him first.
He’s standing up
Damp browed and wide eyed
Surrounded by his sickly creation.
In awe, at what his little body
Has produced.
And then come the words.
The shouts and the orders
And the questions
And the cries
And the struggle
of moving and handling and undressing
and washing away
and the cries.
And the cries
And the cries.
And together
We place him to bed
clean clothed and powdered
armed with tubs and tea towels
we never knew we had,
awaiting the next strike.
His little snores breaking through the silence.
In the night.
