Ken Setter (15.10.1931 / London)

Night and morning I would
Hear the recurring bark.
Some distant wolf, hungry
Impatient, shadows its prey

But it was only my father

In the next room as he
Gasped for breath.
His lungs black, choked,
Petrified with coal dust.

My mother pounding his back,

Forcing the rasping air out.
As the wolf, dry mouthed
And thirsty, paces around the
Room petulant with expectation.