I brought her coffee in the mornings
on the weekends I was there
between the month-long business trips
that drained my energy -
but not the love. I phoned her every night,
clocking the sadness of her distant voice,
wishing she was gladder with her lot.
Nice home, two dogs, three kids.
And me, of course. Sometimes.
I took over - soon as I got home, and she
rushed out, all silken hair and lashes flashing,
smiling that she didn't know
if, or when she might be back.
And when she fell in through the door,
I cradled her weightless
corpse upstairs, undid her dress,
and flaked beside her breathless on the bed,
glad I didn't have to ask the questions
I didn't want, or need an answer.
Tomorrow, I'd be gone again -
hanging on to hopes - ambition,
and phoning every evening.