I love the suds—how the duck-head peeks
Into the open-windowed sunlight through
The foamy bubble bath. But if you really must
Know, I wasn’t there—in my head
I was slamming a car door and walking
Along a wood-chipped footpath to the river.
Old shattered windows—some of the glass
Pink-edged—rose from the trees and brush,
Reflecting, for a moment as I passed,
Half-pictures of someone that pretty
Much looked like me except: no cuts
And bruises! From the sky fell
Hand-sized ceramic bats. So strange,
You said to me, to see the leaves
Still so green. I thought I might be
Able to love you forever. At the river
The same wanna-be was pretending
To be Jesus, tossing his wet hair back,
Raising his arms in the air. Touchdown!
Touchdown! you yelled stripping away
Clothes as you ran and dove in—
Outside a car door slammed. The
Cat jumped to swat the door
Knob. I called out the names of things
I hadn’t seen in a long time—Kim-Chee!
Syrup dripping from a smiling mouth!
A lipstick-kissed note that says Don’t
Let Me Go Out Like That—Shriveled, I coursed
With jubilance until the crisp shells of the beetles
That floated in my pink lake bobbed against
My thighs, and my riven toes brushed and tugged
The bandages that were clogging up the drain.
