Carol Ann Duffy

You Jane

At night I fart a Guinness smell against the wife
who snuggles up to me after I’ve given her one
after the Dog and Fox. It’s all muscle. You can punch
my gut and wait forever till I flinch. Try it.
Man of the house. Master in my own home. Solid.

Look at that bicep. Dinner on the table
and a clean shirt, but I respect her point of view.
She’s borne me two in eight years, knows
when to button it. Although she’s run a bit to fat
she still bends over of a weekend in suspenders.

This is the life. Australia next year and bugger
the mother-in-law. Just feel those thighs.
Karate keeps me like granite. Strength of an ox.
I can cope with the ale no problem. Pints
with the lads, a laugh, then home to her.

She says Did you dream, love? I never
dream. Sleep is as black as a good jar.
I wake half-conscious with a hard-on, shove it in. 
She doesn’t complain. When I feel, I feel here
where the purple vein in my neck throbs.