Aftermath 1971 Poem by Terry Collett

You walked on eggshells;
peered through narrow gaps
where curtains never met,
at moon's glow or sun dull

or bright, wishing it gone,
wanting it to be night, or
at night wanting it to be day.
You sat in dull rooms listening

to birdsong, or the sharp barks
of hounds and other odd sounds.
Where you had slit wrists scars
were; where you had once dreamed

nightmares came out of the walls
of sleep, if sleep came at all.
You lay on the sofa by the wall
of the lounge while others watched

TV soaps with constant chatter
of no matter. You drifting in and
out of sleep or musing on her
that time, how it had all been

so close and hot. Have me, she
had said, before my husband
gets home; or that time you
played chess games with him

letting him win(out of a sense
of sin): and her saying, take me
from the rear quickly my dear.
The eggshells are fragile and so

were you. Undone, done well
by that two timing beautiful girl.