à la campagne 011a

Nice – Bastille Day 2016

 

The night we nearly didn’t have a son

we held each in the other’s arms

as lovers will.

 

She wept.  I, being more robust

and made of sterner stuff,

merely bridled my feminine side

and quivered an unruly upper lip.

 

We both died a little

and learnt a little guilty gratitude,

using the carnage all around

as stepping-stones across

the conscience-stricken shoreline

of relief.

©  D. Crann   2016