the first words my first wife
ever said to me in person were,

“hi, this is Victor he is my boyfriend-slash-pimp
and he will be in the adjoining room
if there are any problems”.

she actually said, “boyfriend-slash-pimp”
and i was impresed by her use of the
word adjoining and her bottom and how
the green of her eyes didnt seem to have one.

three years later,

leaning against the bathroom sink in my
apartment with a grapefruit knife sticking
out of my thigh like an old telephone pole
on a flat and hairy stretch of road,

i laughed.

and i sweated and i looked for some peroxide or rubbing
alcohol and i hoped i wouldnt pass out on the way to the
hospital and that my new couch wouldnt be permanently stained.

but most of all i thanked god i had dressed to the right
that day and that my thigh had taken one for the team.

and i dont know if it was the blood loss but i really wondered,
waiting forever in the ‘care-now’ clinic, if i would ever be able

to love again.

then she walked in, my nurse, my angel,
looking like a strippergram or the devil’s sister.
with a tetanus shot in one hand and
my thigh in the other. she possessed the all-time best
sad-bad-broken, love-at-first-sight-i-cant-resist-you,
fuck-me-now-or-lose-me-forever-you-limp-dick-bastard
look in her eye. really. ever.

the first words my second wife (the nurse)
ever said to me in person were,

“wow, would-ya look at that”

and i told her my story.

and she told me hers.

and love springs eternal in the hearts of us still
even when it walks with a limp