Later

Later
she must sleep with her husband;
curled inwards,
three inches of lemon sheet
insulating her from the man
and his bleak arousal.

Now
she has become an eagle,
spread and ravening,
betrayed by wine,
her new taste in men
and cheap poetry.

Soon
she must creep the gauntlet
of the accusing cat
and her rock-heavy son
up way past midnight;
she cannot meet their eyes.

Tomorrow
she will rise,
sleep-deficient
in the still-half-light
hoping that he will not stir and spot
the teeth marks in her flesh.