Afterwards

She sat on the bed
and did her best to do
what he, through clenched teeth
and a stiff upper lip,
had always told her to do:
‘Get a grip.’

Her ‘wobbles’, her ‘trips
into darkness’, her ‘lunacy’,
didn’t bring out the best in him.
‘Bonkers’ was another word he used
to describe the state she was in
when she was feeling particularly bruised
and ill at ease.

‘Bonkers’ didn’t please him. Control
was everything. He pointed the finger,
he seethed, he instructed.
He didn’t shout. Ever.

A voice was not something to be raised.

She was the least surprised
of anyone when it was he
who locked himself in his shed
one sunny (‘it never rains
but it pours’) day
and blew out his brains.


Left Alone