Labour hasn’t started, so we snatch
whatever sleep we can as hours stream
like fluids through a drip. I keep a watch

for midwives that appear like fleeting dreams
and vanish with the words “I’ll go find out…”
the curtains flutter, they never return.

Before I left at 4am last night,
I heard a newborn’s first cries down the hall.
Despite the rain that sputtered down outside,

the birds on every branch sang loud and shrill.
Right now, a blue partition cuts us off
from the Polish single-mum-to-be’s sad call

for doctors, birthing room and pain relief.
And you, my love, are somehow able to,
curl up against the chaos and drift off.

I self administer an espresso.


2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Apr 25, 2012 @ 00:00:41

    This captures the dream like quality of waiting for something important to happen.
    Little details stand out whilst the world takes a pregnant pause.

    Good luck to all, including the Polish mum to be.


  2. Trackback: NaPoWriMo Day 25: An Hour to Kill | Dan Simpson: Poet

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