Because you’ll walk by
Because you’ll walk by (with your wife)
coughing in the cold, winter wind
recalling the times you made out:
Walking through the fog on the windshield,
no wonder all the great poets slept around.
You keep asking if arousing her is good,
because all the road signs say “Wrong Way”–
but that’s the thrill:
dodging traffic and rolling over into the grassy median,
breathing harder and heavier pulling you into her,
It’s not sex but might as well be.
Ride Home
My windshield is maria menaced by metoers.
Everything but my face is dry,
But nothing shields my heart.
I drive on; into the stormy night,
with double glare;
Should I pull over
crying.
“No more.” I cannot say:
Can’t face. . . . this.
We will now never–the same
Can’t return–
You as I did–
Once.