He likes to talk, elaborating
on monsters and nymphs
the chatter
of a weakling
who got drunk
in hostels and brothels

He is even proud
of his tanned skin
and his grey hair
no longer the man
I have been waiting for

Should I have taken the risk
of order in the house, a successor
he would try to murder
just as he has seen the heroes do?

If only it were over, but
I don't want to die, all that remains
for me is acquiescence, or bitterness

about my lonely life, now
with a traumatised man

who lives forever in a distant war