My Baby

My baby, born in darkness, lives in light.
Together, she and I have travelled far,
Down muddy towpaths, in a railway car,
A thousand stars above us through the night.
We stop, early each morning, for a bite,
Looking like hobos, smelling like road tar,
Feeling like chums. Maybe that's what we are;
We shouldn't be. We should argue, pine, fight.

At last I come to where I ought to be,
Back home from unforgiving neighbourhoods
With endless mountains of unclaimed hard goods.
My baby's smile is everything to me,
My heart is full of rage and contumely.
The road I travel runs through strange, dark woods.