Following the Hay Wain

We found the Shire horse smashed,
his leather straps and wooden cart
a hollow casualty of another late night row.
He stayed at home while she went out
and came home legless, dropped off by a
different car each week.

“She’s all fur coat and no knickers”
mum used to say, and then look at dad
as though he was a dog being trained
not to eat biscuits.

The morning after the night before,
found four young boys sitting on top
of a garage roof, pubescent in anticipation.
Natural selection meant the smallest
was in the call box on the corner.

The neighbours phone sat on a window sill
next to the driveway
hidden from view,
unless you were on our garage roof.

It started to ring, each burst tingled with tension.
her stage was set and the curtains were up,
the whole audience was holding its breath,
fledglings perched on the edge of the nest
ready for their first flight.

On the tenth ring she stepped naked into the light.
Four voices in barbershop precision trailed off a,
fuuuuck mmme just as the sheet of pressed asbestos
gave way.