Will I be loved?

It was a strange question
but I knew what she meant
only a child, but half her face
ravaged by circumstance,
geography really, grew up
in the wrong part of the world

What can you say?
‘Of course you will’, people
will see past the scars
and blistered skin, as thumbing
through perfection, or pretty close
in the weekly magazine

‘The beauty is in your heart’
which is true, but who will it take?
a special kind of blindness,
like a Christ, see past the daily
reminders; brutality and pain
the truth, a different lifeline

I see the perfect marriage
of convenience, she cooks, cleans
he drinks, turns her round
takes what he sees as his
from behind, then shouts a little more
before walks out, never to return

Are these the harmonies
of the carol singers’ bleak midwinter, dressed
in their Timberland, super dry,
with hats and gloves, scarves
to laugh in the cold, before walking home
to warm fires and wine?

Or is this the vision of the lower steps
next world in this, already arrived
the queen of the underpass, bags and rags,
frost forming under fingernails
a shot of something burns to forget
like an unmarked grave?

Don’t look at me, child of picket fence,
white, unless you’re ready to pay
never read my story, never stopped
to listen, no idea who or why,
though, the parents gaze averted,
hurts just as much

But then I saw, and a small tear
pure emotion, without controls
the woman, in her broken home
holding in her arms, a small bundle
of hope, wriggling, screaming perfection
and at last, I could tell the truth

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!