Winter Babies Poem by Terence Winch

Maybe it was the cars crashing tonight,
the full moon, that made us wild.
In the living room there was a big fight
featuring father and mother with child.

Restrooms, elevators were all crowded
with strange-looking nurses and physicians.
Everyone likes these awful mysteries shrouded
behind a wall of grinning technicians.

All regret is symbolic, everyone agreed,
desperately in search of parking spaces,
whining, bickering, picking up speed.
You could see the rebellion in our faces.

Later, our sinus cavities full of antihistamine,
we lie down, embrace, in the bed's fertile deep,
our focal point some tranquil distant scene,
as we surrender, hypnotized, to the thrill of sleep.