Bad Timing (Poetry)

We hear it cry —
the newborn in the flat downstairs
the whole block listens
anxious for its welfare
by and by
the wailing falters — voices
and footsteps plodding
to and fro
a door bangs
then a light clicks on
and still there is half the night
to go

Gradually
it all settles down
for an hour or two
maybe three
we go back to our dreams
find some peace
at least
temporarily
until again it yells
this hunger-maddened soul
cursing fierce the dark — piercing it
with spells

Perhaps it already knows
the timing’s bad
not a good year
for a start
a cold wind blows
and a question chokes
worries at that tiny infant heart
since love will seldom last
why not bump — postpone
all procreation
until this plague on life
is past?