Under a mackerel sky the charge nurse says,
“It is best if you do not visit”.
So I sit;
quiet in my despair;
helpless to help you.
Under a mackerel sky the letter comes
“Your application for the position has been unsuccessful.”
So I sigh;
the autumn day shortening;
the winter night unending.
Under a mackerel sky the nurse says,
“Your wife’s condition has deteriorated”
So I wait;
my soul dropping from grief;
wondering where you have gone
and when you will return.
Under a mackerel sky, the family unit empties;
the anniversary of our joining passes;
I yearn for the thread of regret to unwind.
My disassembling is complete.
I hate this weather.