Allure

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.