When she takes my hand
and tries to kiss me
I’ll say I’m busy,
my lips are resting,
do I hear someone
breaking into the living room?
I haven’t yet finished
my wine, I’m only
halfway through Fossils of Texas,
I have a prearranged call
to my house
in five minutes
from China.
There is the moon, dim
in the long June dusk,
the way she drops her eyes
to her empty hands.
But I’ve hurt enough women
to start a commune:
just crossing the room
I stub my toes on regrets.
We could be long and deep and glorious.
We could be life’s one brilliance
purchased with a thousand failures.
My cat has developed
hepatitis.
Are those Navy SEALs
on the rooftop?
If I don’t go out
and start the engine
my truck will explode.