poetry

paying attention in a meeting downtown

I like the way her hands move
when she speaks to a crowd
nervous but
articulated pleasantly

Quietly confident

I imagine she gardens on the weekends
with the husband who gave
her that thing on her finger

I wonder if she drinks tea instead of coffee
If she wears makeup to bed
If she’s lonely
If he thinks about the nanny when he masturbates

and if so, does she even mind?

I wonder how often they go to bed angry
If she is the spoon or
If she is the spooner
I wonder if she makes quiche in an apron
flour on her cheeks
adorable

I wonder if she enjoys going down on him
If he enjoys going down on her
If they plan on buying a house
before they have children
If she owns a crock pot
If they go home to Ohio for the holidays
(on a red-eye after he gets home from work)

I wonder if her heart is intact
or has been shattered?
smashed into a thousand glittering pieces
that decorate the hallways
of her nuclear funhouse

Does she cry on his shoulder?
Or in the shower alone?
Does she lament past abortions?
Evictions?
Bad decisions?

“It’s not her fault she can’t imagine your despair”

(This is what my mother says
whenever I call her)

(found unfinished )

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