She leans one hand on the bar

The other with fingers and palm

Pressed in to the small of her back

The heavy head she feels

Matches the unrelenting pain across her frame

Stooped and steeped in sudden racked guilt

For the screaming child she has left with her mother

As she tries to raise a smile for each and every customer

Counting off the hours until she can get off her feet

And retrieve the lost moments of shuffling love

And distress

That accompany a two up two down

Let by the month

With somebody else’s idea of furniture

Telling herself it’s just for a while

Just her and the boy against the world

 

And she stands outside for a break

Clutching the wind against her open coat

Watching the spiking smoke

From her cigarette

As she tries to avoid the gaze of a regular

He of two pints and a roll up before returning home

To who knows what

As she fights the urge from this gentle face

For another bruised hip and

Thanks’ love I’ve had my fill

Of responsibility which she anticipates

Because she has given up on finding he who is the one

Not to cause grief and pain

The hoarder of all her secrets

And the keeper of the flame

 

But the hips are not bruised

And he has gentle hands across her shoulders and her back

Her feet with oils he smooths

And the baby he holds is not his

Yet, he smiles and rocks to sleep

Who is this saint?

Is he an illusion?

She feels in her midst

Will he remain?

Through colic smelly nappies

And her creaking doubts

Only time will tell

Whether tomorrow

Will turn in to next week

And next week into more