AT NIGHT OUR HOBBIES SOUND LESS OPTIONAL Comments

The car's gone
I remember how he groaned
When we got home
Like the indifferent mother of a stillborn foal
Yet we went inside and
Got on with our miserable life.

We always had chickpeas in the store cupboard
The shotgun was used weekly and
The dog knew when it should disappear under the table
The car's been sold to a miserly dentist
When his daughter was ten
She bullied me for eleven months.

My grandfather is dead
At night I wait for his vengeful apparition
During the day I think about his hobbies
Where the car used to be there are antlers now
They get dusted monthly
By a cleaning lady who comes from France
She says she has two children
A gifted son and a marginal daughter.

Not all mares are indifferent
When their offspring drop out dead
In the stable, the steppes or the circus sawdust
My grandmother can't ride
Or shoot
But she still wields a shotgun.
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