I wipe the smug from my chin and fish for the key.
I’m late again. I need the hall to myself a moment
Before we meet. It’s like a hum in the air,
A rumble in the boards, this new thing between.
At my side, your nose squinches, a parakeet in rain,
Scratching the breeze for wafts of unsanctified prayers,
The ones the gods scatter, by ill winds cleft.
But I keep baby wipes in the car, you know. Not that all
Walgreen’s hygienic aisles, flourescent lit, nor Pear’s soap
Stacked pyramid-high could wash clean this tiny hand of sin.
But O, were the deed done again! I’m in knee-deep
And nothing now will buy peace, except I plan
To expand your horizons, have you meet my new friends.
Is she Scottish? No, Jewish, but that’s all the same.
With a mouth set like the milkman’s shiny cart,
Snug for hard jostling in the back of the truck
(or a Volvo sedan, as the case might be),
A neck like Edison’s bulb, a hundred watts bright
(Long may it burn by our bed!),-- and those gazelles,
My little church girl, they’re crowned with Hershey’s kisses:
Rimmed with a hint of espresso too, unless
She swiped a wipe. As for her jewel box, I’d call it
A glove of pearls too fit to acquit me of any but the least
Offense. But I’ve sense enough now not to enter my plea;
My plan for peace is, let everyone get their fingers
In everyone’s pie. What’s good for the goose is good
For the geese. For now, to bed. To those ‘witches' as you
Grouse, I bear you good report. Of their tidings too
You shall hear anon. Mimosa brunch come Sunday,
And I get a month of them sleeping on the couch
If I don’t live to see you grinding on Miriam’s lap.
She’s bossy, you’ll like that, though you won’t know
The half of it till it hits. But the after-party stays
Off facebook. I think. But let’s not overanalyze.
You know how study groups just frazzle my brain.
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