An Excuse, 2006

There’s a picture of you on my screen.
My body is forgetting your touch.
It’s filled with my husband’s hands,
smacking my ass repetitively. I like that.
 
You would never hit. You would never run.
You are off working, jumping from one big city
to the next. Can I travel with you? Will you
take me? I dread that you are a loner.
 
I wonder of your mate. This is a plain poem.
Love is blatant, forth-right. No lies. It’s just the truth.
I tell him that I don’t know if I’ll stay--
I probably won’t. The chance of you
 
is too great to pass by. You are too great. Your
touch is the softest, most impressing--I’ve ever felt.
Next to the boy, who teaches thousands. I tell him that
he’s the best man I’ve ever met. It’s a lie. You
are magnificent. Or, are you just an excuse to flee?

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