Neuro

It's a comic and cruel twist of fate
that you went in for a brain surgery and returned
worn of heart,
and you're sleeping, all wires, monitors, white lines -
our dead pan humour lingers in my cargo,
I don't know what to do with it now.

And I sit,
six to eight hours from you
penning lines with less empathy than our jest,
more rage, more frustration, more age
contemplating who you'll want nay need me to be,
who you'll be as and when you wake.

I'm driving up Monday
back to Suffolk with all her ghosts,
carrying my child, old jokes, new found awkwardness
after bloods to check lumps in my throat,
there's humour in that, finding a lump in my throat the day you went into surgery,
I'm coming home - so you wait up for me.
It's a comic and cruel twist of fate. It just is.