Your wife is dead

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