Saturday nights

This was the year
that I grew tired
of arguing with
children after
bedtime.

When I feel
somehow
the weight
of the day
pressing on
me like darkness
through the window.

Even if the day
has been fine,
slight.
Even if we've spent
the afternoon
gathering service berries
purple-stained fingers.

Still, in the evening
it's all I can do
after nine to not
scream as loud as
I have ever have
that I want
everyone to be asleep.

Even the dogs,
who would otherwise
be sending up a call
about Dalmatians
across London.

But I don't
want to read
that story, nor any
story, but the one
I'm telling
right now,
in the dark
on the computer
while the children
shout and play
games well past
nine.