Jonah Monah’s coming up the stairs
with sallow cheek and sunken eye,
dronewailing each stumblestep,
boneclutching the night.
Jonah Monah’s coming up the stairs,
his stare a stick to fright the boys not yet abed
who gigglefrolic night-time hours
that should be spent asleep.
Many are the ways he seeks them out.
Those he finds must pay the penny.
They cannot run, they cannot shout.
He’s coming now, yes, there are many
different approaches to fatherhood.
Some favour clear boundaries,
some prefer a journey shared,
while others, in their wisdom,
create terrifying personae
with dark and mystical powers
to ensure regular patterns.
Each of these has merit.
Jonah Monah’s coming up the stairs
no more. He lies abed, all still,
his lips apart in silent song.
Do not wake him.