I was not raised on rituals; when I have cake
I do not eat. Have never been carol-singing,
and found you on Halloween where I had left you
to go for a run, found you standing there alone,
grinning with your cloak and basket in the gloam,
children gone, with just a few sweets left. Beetles in boxes
kept away from one another. I must be reminded
to say goodnight and never, never to sleep in pain
after argument, which I disagree with fundamentally,
just as I thought there was no point in making our bed
when we will be sleeping in it again so soon.
I do not see the point in ironing the underwear
which only you will love; saying pleasantries
about relations I have never known. But these are
Nice Things, and I know you like them,
So I will write cards from my critiques,
and if you tell me these are something different,
I will trust you, and run to find you again.
