AFTER THE HONEYMOON
With blazing eyes and open mouth, she hails,
Your socks are on the floor again.
"Get on the bed," he thinks, looking at her
pretty mouth, ignoring her words.
In the morning she strides outside, flings
socks in the trash with a flourish
as the neighbor smiles
wishing he were younger
while his wife, unclips
limp underwear to
into a basket
Published in Impetus #6