Jul/Aug 2006 Poetry |
Allure
Instead of flowers, my husband
brings home a jackknife:
these are dangerous times.Nightly, I thread through
unlit alleys with the poodle.
We both feel the summer heat.Twice already male drivers stop,
roll down the window. They
weren't after directions.I can be venomous when taken
for a prostitute. Girlfriends
insist my toes should curl.I never know which side
of the toast is buttered;
my overalls are stained with jam.They say lamplight brings out
the best in leather. I don't
agree it's time I meet someone new.My husband sleeps late, eats wisely,
drinks from my pitcher of fruit juice.
Then, there's the dog to consider.