When I ask him to tell me about love
he channels his mother and screams
until the bath water is so cold
my skin feels like a work of fiction.
After dark I ask, ‘Why is there
a camera in our bedroom?’
and he says, ‘It’s so the sleep doctors
can monitor my night terrors.’
Then he smiles in such an odd way
that his mouth, his runaway mouth
reminds me of a horizontal line
drawn by shell-shocked hand.
Bobby Parker is a British poet.