The Rainbow

I walked you to the hospital
and you talked of old Malawi.
'Pink Gin Days', you called them
and you cried.

Your boy was only five.
You left him for three days
alone and terrified
to talk of old Malawi.

Doctor, Doctor, what do we become?
The air, the sky, the elephants,
the sad and long-faced men?
The walk was done
and was undone.

We talked just then of Christ
and elephants.
Your boy is gone.