She sits up there
drinking wine
while her husband
is at work.
She puts quite
some importance
upon getting her
poems published
in the little
magazines.
She's had two or
three of her slim
volumes of poems
done in mimeo.
She has two or
three children
between the ages
of 6 and 15.
She is no longer
the beautiful woman
she was. She sends
photos of herself
sitting upon a rock
by the ocean
alone and damned.
I could have had
her once. I wonder
if she thinks I
could have
saved her?
In all her poems
her husband is
never mentioned.
But she does
talk about her
garden
so we know that's
there, anyhow,
and maybe she
fucks the rosebuds
and finches
before she writes
her poems.
