New verse by Wellington writer Dame Fiona Kidman.

Man weeping

A man walking down a road,

his shoulder muscles packaged

tight as boulders under his shirt,

a thick set handsome man, all

sinew and brawn. I knew

this man, stayed under his roof

more than once or twice. Until

then I had not seen a man

cry. Not just tears, but hulking

great sobs tearing his body apart.

Later, in the village, you would

hear the word cuckold bandied

about. A shame for a young

man, her quicker than him

and her second time round

the clock, was what they said.

What I recall most of that night

is how the passion fruit

flowers were rich on the vine,

their scent as surreal as the man

weeping and walking along

the rough avenue with only

a child to observe his fall.

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From the new collection This change in the light: A collection of poems (Godwit, 2016), available from Unity Books.