…but why ?

She's cleaning for two

And one of them doesn't even care.

One of them is curled up in the dark

Safely sucking at his tiny salty thumb

He has no idea  

That in a couple of weeks he's going to be out there

In the wild

With his mum,

Which is why

She's got on those mad pink dungarees

And she’s wobbling about on dangerous chairs

Flapping away at invisible dust.

Which is also why

The next day she's in the kitchen

Hair in a bun

Scrubbing away at a perfectly clean floor.

And then there are the cupboards?

And what about the toilet bowl?

And WHY does the sitting room have to be painted AGAIN?

There are no answers.

There is no language to explain.

This is some ancient mammal code

Entwined inside her DNA.

So don't bother arguing or being reasonable.

Don't even think about

Making helpful suggestions.

She has to do this

Her way.

It's simple and scary.

You're just the man,

With the club,

In the cave.

She has the baby.