Your Underwear

The thing I wonder about the most
is who was the first lucky guy to
see you in that sexy lingerie you got
right before you deserted me.
I don't wonder why you left--
I understand and I thank the cosmos
that you did. I don't wonder
what my life would be like if we
were still together--I know it
would be ongoing hell. I don't
wonder how I could have fallen
for your lies and misrepresentations
of yourself--I've always been a fool
for love, and especially foolish when
it comes to pretty faces and sweet
little asses. What really gets me
is that you bought those push-up
bras for my liking in the first place--
but I never got to take them off you
once. What gets me is that some
anonymous peon, surely nowhere
near as pretty or worldly as I,
was the first beneficiary. The truth,
in this case, really was too much
for you to face. When I pointed out,
though, that you, my then wife,
hadn't given me an honest kiss in
some six months or more, I wasn't
hoping that you'd start to realize
it was pointless and then just get up
and go. I wasn't wishing that you'd
start to see how hard it was for me
to live with the daily facts of both
my disease and your not wanting me
anymore. I wasn't dreaming of a life
without you. All I really wanted was
to see you in your new push-up
bras and thongs. Not much for
a husband to ask of his wife
I don't think. Couldn't you have
given me at least one night to enjoy
you and your new underwear?
No, I guess you were right: I'd
rather not have new erotic images of you
in my head, nothing more than
I've already got. They surely
would make the whole thing appear
just that much more senseless.

(2007)