Illegitimate

Despite the polar-wind, the terrible freeze, and the no show ‘snow’ day,

I find I love you- again,

Not because the boiler’s rattling,

Not because I burnt the soup, and now I’m burning garden rubbish in the house.

Or because the dog is trying to lick my mouth, or the window, or the door.

The snow comes in pathetic whiffs on a demanding wind.

No two foot drifts.

Nothing barring my way.

Not the freezing wind or the broken voice on the radio, 

hollow as a tree with no promise.

Nor the fat wood pigeon pecking the ice, looking glamorous.

Nor my three oil paintings hanging on my walls in my house, where I live.

The skeletal trees bare the brazen wind on this illegitimate snow day.

The fire hisses and cracks with the freeze-dried wood.

These things exist, but that’s not why I love you. 

I love you most because when that kid told our son you sucked dildos for a living,

You said, ‘How does he know?’