Baby, baby, where did our glove go?

Amidst the rusks and mortgages, small arguments lay unresolved,

some unremembered, all festering. Hurts imagined as intended, 

or intentional, unsquared by goodnight kisses. Occasional nights 

of packaged, holiday sex, otherwise grey dawns with dummies.

The children’s primary school the scene of petty jealousies and spite. 

Whether his kiss was too affectionate or she had too many male 

friends on social media – it all took getting used to when no one

was really used to it at all. Year 5 was like a period of Pol Pot.

Their desire decapitated by arguments, their relationship’s decline

reached Key Stage 2: silence, shrugs and an atmosphere so bitter the kids 

no longer cared. One Parents Evening it all came to a head. The older 

lad was skipping class, each blamed the other, in front of all the school 

a stand up row. He slept on the sofa at his mates. Next day she rang 

the law firm up the road. Gloves on or off, they never held hands again.