Complaint

They call me and I go. 
It is a frozen road 
past midnight, a dust 
of snow caught 
in the rigid wheeltracks. 
The door opens. 
I smile, enter and 
shake off the cold. 
Here is a great woman 
on her side in the bed. 
She is sick, 
perhaps vomiting, 
perhaps laboring 
to give birth to 
a tenth child. Joy! Joy! 
Night is a room 
darkened for lovers, 
through the jalousies the sun 
has sent one golden needle! 
I pick the hair from her eyes 
and watch her misery 
with compassion.