Breakfast Scene

Well, what do we want that makes you cry,
Insufferably sorry for yourself, and I
The instigator, bang out - 'Enough!'
Trampling you under tongue in the name of love?

Is it that each knows the other holds
Half of some dark divided toy
We can't always have, or of which we tire,
Turning on our own half with double fire?

It would be simple if needs ran on lines,
Mine to yours and yours to mine,
But they rarely do - we each in turn
Hope the other hurt when our own boats burn.

Peter Bland.