My Bare-Chested Husband Wrestles the Patio Umbrella

Susanna Childress

And under her wings, his elbows
splash. She aims
to have him
suckle, is not fighting back
but envelops him, has the upper hand
thickly flapping,
her broken wood frame buckling
him closer. From where I sit

in the air conditioning I try
not to laugh: I will
wake my son,
spilled across my belly
in slumber, having drunk from me
his fill. Outside,
the man emerges, swipes at
the curls on his forehead,
scratches

the pallid skin above his navel, goes back
under. What is more
ridiculous than
their dance, part praying
mantis, part braying dog,
is the jealousy
I feel. Not sour. Lo, camaraderie,
rises from me, June-lorn.

Prompt

Like “Aria for Starlings in Spring,” this poem reflects movement in the length, indentations, and breaks of its lines.

Unlike “Aria,” however, the poem imitates a much clumsier, human action. Write a poem that uses its lines to communicate a physical activity, whether it be diving, folding laundry, playing basketball, or tripping up the stairs. Don’t worry about being too obvious or wild. Enjoy where the lines take you.