This man who fights with his own shadow
Murmurs vague words all day,
Breaks vases at trivial anger,
He is a December born May.
Rough in his speech, smooth to berate,
He drinks the peace of his house
His thirst to satiate,
Hiding behind the door, that woman,
Has her own philosophy to blame.
She fights her man, the man who gave
Her nothing more than a disgraced name!
Since the day she entered this hell,
She has just worked to make it worse,
Let it be a squabble, a small fight,
She is ever ready to take it further,
Consumes more pills than lunch itself,
She has her own bulk to bother.
This man and this woman
Are my only parents that can be,
And I just have them today
To be called my family.
(First published UK Poetry Library website)