I shan’t cry now,
not in the glare and noise of the supermarket,
between the breakfast spreads and the cereals.
I mustn’t cry now,
not in front of the children, flown from their school-day,
chattering urgently away, of lessons, games and he-said then I-said.
I can’t cry now,
not when there is no time, no time of my own, just the stove,
the table, and dinner waiting to be cooked and served.
I won’t cry now,
not when I am so tired, that my eyes close before the tears fall,
and there is nothing left of the day, and nothing left in me.
And maybe tomorrow, I wont need to cry.