Rumours of a Marriage

In my neighborhood
the whispered “she’s a bitch”
caught fire and spread
with me the unlikely hero
known locally as
“The Saint”
and still they come to the parties
drink our wine
eat homemade lasagna
interrogate the children

what’s it like, they want to know
a mommy such a bitch

and your daddy?

They scan my arms
with their hands
lingering on the deltoids
memorizing with their fingers
an imagined shirtless shape while I
hello them to death
never remembering their names
not caring to remember anything
just following her next “suggestion”
collect the plates
serve the coffee

and when they all leave
we go upstairs
and with the windows wide open
we fuck

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About David

Prone to musing and to being prone. Father to two, writer, engineer.
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