THOSE UNBORN CHILDREN are making a racket again
Banging their hands on the luxury biscuit tin
Chanting "We would've saved your relationship"
"We would've saved your relationship"

even though we're still together.
It must be them who’ve been stealing all the chocolates
They must be the reason I feel too tired to do it
They must’ve been behind that tumour that ate my prostate

Jumping up and down in the unconverted attic
Banging all their little heads against its walls of rubber
Ring-a-ring-a-rosing round that old upended anchor
Playing Mummies and Daddies themselves in ever-increasing panic

I had the supple wrists of a juggler
but now they're gone
You kept your figure another decade
never passed it on

We can't discern their number, though I suspect one has one leg.
Those unborn children are making a racket again
We'll have to put them up for adoption
by the couple that never even asked each other out.

Previously published in Germline.