I've been a little derelict in my poems. Here's a new one.
-
Ménage a Trois
If I loved you
fifty years ago at the altar
or on that snowy February night eight years past
I mean it no less today
as I wet your lips with moist swabs
and read the paper waiting for you to make the obituary.
This morning, Martha brought the blanket
we used, neighbors and lovers, to cover you
in every permutation imaginable.
She stayed three hours by your yellow body
before meeting the lawyer
to discuss discarding your things.
Me, I’m at the solstice of this five decade vigil
and though Martha may take your body home
I will not be far behind.
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