Living Together

by which was meant

they slept in one bed,

shared a bank account,

placed possessions in the apartment just so

according to the rules of trade of horses,

at times with delicate, or other times hot,

negotiations,

including over the canary.

One partner sneezed each time

he passed within a metre of the cage;

the other found it irksome

to keep the bird on the balcony,

favouring daily intimacy –

he was not deaf

and he’d forsaken allergies

at the age of five.

Within a month one tripped,

broke a hip, the other struggled to lift,

stroked, both then trucked

to the local emergency. 

They survived

but I can’t tell you

how the canary died.