Black heart, brute male who lay his mistress on the still warm bed
No conscience, no shame - to Sylvia still wed
and She fragile, burning with pain, fingers numb with cold
Your wife is dead, his lover said.
The snowing streets, the phone box calls
The no-one there, the closing walls
and she fragile, takes her life
Your wife is dead, his lover said
Black heart, brute male who takes his lover to his sweet wife’s bed unmade
and let’s her tend the babes where Sylvia laid
Cook them food where earlier lay her head
Your wife is dead, his lover said.
written in January 2018 by Joanna Garrido