|Jul/Aug 2010 Poetry Special Feature|
I always trusted Sheila.
I had never felt a need to doctor
my business's papers.
Hadn't I always been as honest
and as open as a sundial?
We would iron out a divorce
Then she saw a lawyer.
After that I looked over my shoulder,
his legal maneuvering dogging me,
a flying ace on my tail wing.
My future became a country under siege.
They demanded lifelong payments.
You've taken everything,
I shouted. What do I pay you in, wild yams?
She and her lawyer raised their third fingers.
From their distance a downed pilot
is just part of the wreckage.