nine

My thoughts of Boston
I share your singular grief
mother, boy of eight

eight

Sweet avenging day
make those children pay for night
We slept not a wink

seven

Picking paint colours
White isn't white isn't white
and neither is gray

six

Would you act your age?
Oh right. Eight-year-old-boys do
laugh, poo, penis, fart

five

In like a lion
followed by a fierce tiger
March, you're killing us

four

Tired renovators
Put down your tools and make love
The day is not young

three

Your mouth, my nipple
Sweetest toddler moment in
afternoon cuddle